The Headmaster's Children
by Freelance Fanfictioner
Summary: One headstrong daughter wants to drop out of school, another daughter dates an aspiring Death Eater, and a son is unexpectedly sorted into Gryffindor. Snape's first year as Headmaster is sure to be interesting. Sequel to the Celena Costello stories.
1. Spring Cleaning

**This is the third of my series of stories about Severus Snape's life post-war. It isn't necessary, however, to read the first two in order to enjoy this one. The order goes as following: "Master of Potions", "Under a False Name", "The Headmaster's Children", "The Three Houses", "Full Circle". The premise is largely very much canon-compliant, except that Severus does not die at the end of DH, but instead, is saved by Harry at the last moment. In the year following the war, Severus Snape is made Deputy Headmaster and goes on teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, while the Potions vacancy is filled by the young and charming Celena Costello, who soon finds herself at loggerheads with Snape. This, however, does not prevent their falling in love, marrying, and having three children.**

**This story is set, but for the prologue, in the year which begins with the last chapter of DH ("Nineteen years later").**

Dusk was just setting over a balmy April evening when Severus Snape's steps crunched over the gravel path leading to his front door. Suddenly, he stopped and frowned. The door was open, and it looked as though half the furniture had been taken out. Through the door, he could see a maze of more furniture and cardboard boxes.

The cheerful voices of Fiona and Anna playing hide-and-seek somewhere between the boxes excluded the possibility of something sinister, but even so, he didn't recall they were supposed to be moving house. They did, after all, buy this cozy cottage in Hogsmeade not long ago, after Anna's birth.

He wiped his feet on the doormat, stepped inside and cleared his throat. He could hear bustle in the kitchen. _"Tergeo!" _said Celena's voice, and then it sounded as though the oven door was banged closed. "Dear?" she called. "Oh, there you are, Severus," she smiled, coming towards him, wearing a large apron, wand in hand.

"What have you been doing?" asked Severus, puzzled.

"Spring cleaning," Celena explained enthusiastically. He should have known. The coincidence of spring with his wife's ninth month of pregnancy had sent her into a flurry of nesting such as he had never witnessed before. During the past week, she has been re-organizing cabinets, hanging new curtains, and cleaning out all nooks and crannies. But he had never yet seen the house turned upside down the way it was now.

"It seems you have been over-exerting yourself," he remarked with concern, observing her flushed face.

"_Tergeo_ does not work on everything," she explained, "I have had to contribute, you know, some manual effort."

"Well, I think you should take a break now," he said firmly. "Tell me what to do and I'll lend you a hand."

"I would be ever so grateful if you give the girls a bath and tuck them in," said Celena, "they have had their dinner already. I'll just clear some space on the dining room table in the meantime, and we can eat as well."

It was never an easy task to get five-year-old Fiona and three-year-old Anna to bathe without causing a flood in the bathroom, nor to make them wriggle into their pajamas at bedtime, and least of all to get them to actually sleep, but luckily for Severus, both girls were thoroughly fagged by the time they were bathed and dressed, and the three of them sat in a row on Fiona's bed in the children's bedroom.

"Tell the story of Babbity Rabbity, Daddy," asked Anna, lifting her blue guileless eyes to him. Fiona's eyes were the same color, but their expression, serious and penetrating, was reminiscent of Severus's, and she had his raven-black hair and stark features. Anna was a child of sweet disposition, and loved playing with the pink and frilly garments she had managed to filch out of her mother's wardrobe; Fiona preferred taking her father's potion-making kits and questioning him explicitly about their contents, displaying most unusually quick perception.

"No, not stupid Babbity Rabbity again, tell us the tale of the three brothers, Dad."

"Babbity Rabbity is not stupid - " protested Anna.

"Enough, or I am leaving this moment," he said firmly. "Listen. Once upon a time, three brothers traveled down a winding road by twilight..."

Soon enough, they were asleep, and he proceeded to the dining room, where the table, amidst all the mess of upturned cabinets and piled cleaning rags, was prettily set for two, with a large dish of pasta and meatballs, a bottle of wine, and a pitcher of orange juice. Celena had taken off her apron, let her hair fall loose, and was looking as lovely as ever, despite the fact that her belly seemed to be, if possible, even larger than it was in the morning. Then again, to him she could never look different. The extra exercise of the day had only added brilliance to her complexion, and she seemed full of energy despite the late hour.

"How is it going for you in the shop?" asked Severus as his wife loaded a steaming pile of pasta and spiced meatball sauce onto his plate.

"Oh, things are running better than ever since cousin Clemence joined in," Celena replied cheerfully, pouring some wine for her husband and orange juice for herself. "She is such a talented manager that all I need to do is pop in for an hour every day. She will be getting a pay rise soon. And Ginny was here today, she brought James with her; he and the girls had a grand time playing together."

"She should be pretty far along too by now, isn't she?"

"Yes, though she's not quite as big as I am yet. She is due in June. I told her she and Harry are invited to Saturday night dinner, provided things don't get moving," she placed a hand on her belly.

"You don't have to put yourself to trouble, Celena. Dinner parties can wait."

"It's not a party, dear. It's only Harry and Ginny; _they_ are never trouble, and we didn't have them over for nearly a month now. Oh, and I got an owl from Witch Weekly, reminding me that I promised them a column about my skin care potions. They are suggesting we make this regular - my own column of beauty tips for witches and such, you know."

"Would you have time for this? You have your hands full with the girls, the shop, the house..."

"I know," sighed Celena, "one shouldn't bite off more than one can chew. But how was your day, dear? Exam time is approaching, isn't it? You must have been busy."

"Didn't imagine I would be able to get away before dinner. I'm glad I made the effort to, though. If I hadn't, most likely you'd still be moving boxes and furniture," he chided her gently.

"You think I took this a tad too far, don't you?" she smiled. "You know I'm always getting carried away when it comes to spring cleaning. It's just so satisfying, you know, to clear away all the accumulated dirt and cobwebs, to open the windows wide after a long winter and let fresh clean air pour in."

"That's what you did for me," said Severus all of a sudden, fixing her with that gaze of earnest tenderness she alone knew. "You cleared away the cobwebs of my soul, and opened the windows so I'd be able to look out and see that life is still beautiful."

He took hold of her hand, and Celena blinked away unexpected tears. "Oh, Sev," she said softly. "Life _has_ been kind to us, hasn't it? The past six years have been the happiest in my life."

Yes, he thought. He and Celena met almost seven years ago; had he thought, back then, that life had better things in store for him than prowling the dungeons of Hogwarts, being the nightmare of every student and lamenting the past that can never be undone? Had he imagined that several years hence, he would be telling bedtime stories to his children?

Later, when they went to bed, Celena took his hand and placed it on her belly. He could feel the life inside, the gentle movements of the child almost ready to enter this world. "It's a boy," his wife said dreamily.

"How do you know?" he asked, surprised.

"Just a feeling," she replied, "you _would_ like a boy, now that we have two girls, wouldn't you?"

"It makes not the least difference to me," he said, more sincerely than most husbands would in his situation.

He hadn't even noticed how he drifted off to sleep, but close to one o'clock in the morning, he woke abruptly and saw, by a flickering light of a single candle, his wife pacing back and forth, from the window to the dressing bureau. He sat bolt upright. "What is the matter?" he asked. "Is it - do you - "

"Don't get all worked up, Severus," Celena said reassuringly. "I'm having a - a little cramping, but I've been having this on and off for the past few weeks, there's no knowing it's the real thing this time."

"Do you want me to send a message to the midwitch?" he asked.

"No, no need to. It's the dead of night, Amelia will be sleeping. I'll wait a little longer and see how things are developing. You go back to sleep."

"I don't think I could," he said, sitting up. "Can I do anything for you? Do you want anything? A snack, a drink?"

"I'll be glad for a glass of orange juice," conceded Celena, and he, glad of something to do, went downstairs and poured the juice for her into a tall glass, adding a few cubes of ice for good measure. He didn't think he lingered for more than five minutes, yet when he came back, his wife looked flushed even by the weak candlelight, and he could see perspiration beading on her face. Calm down, he told himself, you have been through this before.

"I am going to call Amelia," he said. Celena nodded, apparently unable to speak. He was already halfway downstairs on his way to the fireplace when he heard his wife's strained voice behind him. "Severus?"

"Yes?" he turned abruptly. She was holding her belly, doubled up, and for a moment, looked almost unable to speak.

"Could you fill me a warm bath? It made me so much more comfortable last time," she breathed out.

"A bath - yes. Of course." He hurried to their bathroom, opened the tap and wiped the sweat that had sprung up unexpectedly on his brow. After a minute, the bath was filled with warm water, and Celena sank gratefully into it, while he bounded downstairs.

He had just finished a hurried conversation with the midwitch through the Floo network, and made her promise to be dressed and on her way in five minutes, when he heard Celena's voice calling his name again, this time more urgently. He wasted no time; she was on all fours, gripping the edge of the bathtub, and her face was contorted with pain as she turned towards him.

"I just spoke to Amelia, she's on her way," he assured her.

"You were right," Celena panted, "we should have called her earlier - I - oh, Severus, I won't be able to hold on!"

"What do you mean?" there was a trace of panic in his voice now.

"I'm going to have this baby now!" she said shrilly, through gritted teeth.

"What - no. No, dear, she will be here in five minutes, she said, I - "

"You must - help - me," she caught his hand and held it so forcefully her nails left gouge marks. "It's coming, I'm going to push!"

Don't, please don't, he thought or maybe even said, but the ridiculousness of it was lost in the primal cry that escaped the lips of his wife; a scream of the most powerful sensation in the world, more pressure than pain, and something appeared between her thighs - and without thinking, without knowing what he was actually doing, he reached out and caught the first movement of his son's new life.

Precisely at that moment, Amelia's voice could be heard calling from downstairs. She arrived just in time to cut the umbilical cord.

An hour later, Celena was already resting in their bed, propped up on pillows and holding the babe that had fallen asleep at her breast. "You_ should_ have called me earlier," reproached Amelia, before heading off to Vanish the bathroom mess. "But I must say, Severus handled this quite admirably," she added with an arch smile.

"You were brilliant, Severus," agreed Celena with a weak smile when they were left alone. He was about to protest, as he had not really done anything, but all words were stuck in his throat as she handed the baby to him. "I told you it would be a boy," she added softly.

The baby boy had his black hair and, as far as could be surmised so soon, a great measure of his features. The experience of two previous births was nothing to prepare him to the eternal miracle of life, precious, gentle life that was deposited in his hands. Overwhelmed with emotion, he felt he could look at his son forever.

"How shall we call him?" asked Celena.

"Oh," he had not thought of that, "anything you choose is fine with me."

"I got to choose the first two times. Now is your turn."

He looked at the babe's face intently, lost in contemplation. "Septimus," he said finally, "I've always been partial to this name."

"Septimus Severus," Celena gave an approving nod, "it sounds well."


	2. Fiona, Anna and Septimus

Celena climbed up the stairs and stopped in front an ornate wooden plaque bearing the waspish words, "do not enter without the explicit permission of Fiona Snape." Her knock on the door was answered by a grumbling "come in", which Celena figured would have to do for an explicit permission. She pushed the door open and entered her daughter's room.

It was not exactly tidy, to put it mildly. Spellbooks, robes, bits of old parchment, quills and various debris were scattered pell-mell across the room, littering the floor and covering every possible surface. A large cage was perched atop the cluttered desk, containing a tawny owl by the name of Althea, who was stretching her wings and hooting sleepily, clearly just waking up after a day of slumber.

Celena's daughter, Fiona, was sitting on her bed cross-legged and scribbling away in her diary, which she slammed shut when her mother entered the room. She was wearing torn jeans, a ripped T-shirt and an expression of extreme defiance.

"Fiona," started Celena, trying and failing to keep indignation out of her voice as she stared at the surrounding mess, "don't tell me you haven't packed yet!"

"I told you, Mum," Fiona said haughtily, "I see no reason why I should go."

Celena suppressed a sigh of impatience. They have, after all, been through this more than a couple of times recently.

"And I have told _you_, Fiona," she said, her hands on her hips, "that your father and I cannot allow you to abandon your magical education –"

"Who talked about me abandoning my education?" Fiona rolled her eyes, "I don't need what they teach at Hogwarts to be educated, I don't need N.E., most of it is a load of rubbish. What I really want is to study magical creatures with Luna, and she said she'll have me – if you are okay with that," she finished somewhat more placidly.

"I will write to Luna," Celena frowned, "and tell her what I think about the idea of my sixteen-year-old daughter leaving school… really, Fiona, you can take the N.E.W.T in Care of Magical Creatures, I wouldn't expect anything less of you, but what about other subjects? Transfiguration and Potions and Charms, and Herbology and Ancient Runes – and Defense Against the Dark Arts, surely you cannot say that is unimportant –"

"I'm not saying it's unimportant," interjected Fiona, "I can learn most of it on my own, and frankly, I'm not that fussed, the O. were ridiculously easy –"

With a flourish, Fiona pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment from under a pile of spare robes lying on the edge of her bed. It came early in the summer, and contained the results of her O.W.L examinations. It read as following:

Fiona Evangeline Snape has achieved:

Charms – O

Transfiguration – O

Potions – O

Defense Against the Dark Arts – O

Ancient Runes – O

Herbology – E

History of Magic – E

Care of Magical Creatures – O

Arithmancy – O

Astronomy – O

"Ten O.!" Fiona cried out, "Eight of them 'Outstanding', I even passed History of Magic, even though I never bothered to listen to Professor Binns and only went through a couple of books on goblin rebellions and giant wars. And I know I could have gotten an 'Outstanding', if someone had only let me look at their notes, but no one would do that –"

Fiona glared at her mother. The two of them had identical dazzling blue eyes, but Fiona's hair was raven black, not chestnut, and at sixteen, she was tall and gangly, without her mother's graceful manner of movement. Her face was thin and pale, her robes often torn and unkempt, and her hair was always impatiently pulled back in a ponytail when Celena objected to it being clipped mercilessly short.

After five years of Fiona's attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Celena had to come to terms with the painful conclusion that her talented, strong-minded daughter did not make any friends, which must have, Celena reasoned, played its part in her lack of desire to go back to school. But all the same –

"You cannot drop out of school, Fiona, your father is Headmaster now, what do you think that would look like –"

"Oh yeah," Fiona gave a sarcastic little laugh, "I'll tell you one thing, Mum, that's not going to make me any more popular. Dad was only ever liked in Slytherin, and as I'm in Ravenclaw…"

She trailed off. Celena frowned again. Here was another unpleasant truth she had to face: Severus Snape, her husband of seventeen years, whom she deeply loved and admired, did not have the necessary character traits to gain popularity among the students, and had to settle for respect often mingled with fear and dislike – with the exception, as Fiona rightly noted, of Slytherin, his old house, the head of which he had been until now.

All the same, Celena was not going to let herself be overpowered by a rebellious teenager.

"Fiona Evangeline Snape," she started with forced calm.

"Oh, drop the Evangeline!" Fiona cried out in exasperation, "I cannot stand that name, why on earth did you and Dad have to come up with it?"

"Fine!" bellowed Celena, dropping all pretence of patience, "_Fine!_ Fiona – you have two years left in school until you can do whatever you want with your life –"

"One year," corrected Fiona, "I'll be seventeen next summer, and then I will be in charge, school or not."

"One year, then," said Celena, regaining composure. Lately, conversations with her eldest daughter were likely to drive her mad. "If you are still stupid enough to want to drop out of school after you complete this year, I'm afraid I will be unable to do anything to stop you. But right now, you are still underage, and I expect you to be packed and ready within an hour, and then I need you downstairs to help me with dinner. The Potters are coming, and I count on you and Anna to lend a hand."

"Fine!" Fiona glared at her mother, defeated, and dragged her old, battered school trunk from under her bed. She seized a stack of books and threw them forcefully into the trunk, which left the cover of "Spellman's Syllabary" in her hands.

That's about as good as she could hope for with Fiona, Celena told herself in resignation as she walked out of her daughter's room. When she closed the door behind her, she heard a loud clang as Fiona's cauldron was smashed against the bottom of her trunk.

The plaque on the door next to Fiona's read "Anna Celena Snape", and the little bedroom, which was similar in size to Fiona's, looked much more spacious since most of Anna's possessions were already packed in her school trunk, which stood locked and ready to be moved at the corner of the room. Anna was sitting on the chair by her desk, immersed in the latest edition of "Witch Weekly", with her cat, Boots, purring in her lap.

When she saw her mother, Anna put the magazine away. Like her sister, she had inherited her mother's eyes, but also her long, wavy chestnut hair and conquering smile. At fourteen years, she was tall and slender, and moved with the gracefulness of a dancer even when she was merely on her way to her classes or to the library.

"Ready, Anna?" asked Celena.

"Almost," said Anna, "I just need you to iron my Quidditch robes for me, Mum, it takes ages if I do it the Muggle way."

Anna played Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Her green and silver Quidditch robes were laid out on the bed. Celena pointed her wand at them, and under a mighty, thick jet of hot air that poured out of the tip of her wand, the crinkles were instantly smoothed out.

"Thanks, Mum," said Anna. "The Potters will be here soon, right? I'll come downstairs in a moment, just have to put these robes and a couple of books in my trunk."

"Great," Celena gave her younger daughter an approving smile, "I'll go and check how Sep is doing, then."

Septimus's trunk was not yet completely packed, and some of his socks were scattered across the room, but Celena did not reproach him for that – she knew it was the third time in the last two days that he had packed, unpacked again, and re-packed all his belongings. He was now surreptitiously polishing his new wand, which they had bought at Ollivander's last week, when for the first time, Celena took all her three children shopping for school supplies. With a tender expression on her face, Celena approached her youngest son, who was about to begin his first year at Hogwarts, and put an arm around his shoulders.

"I still don't understand, Mum," Septimus began without further ado, "why can't we continue to live at home? I mean, we live in Hogsmeade, we could walk to school every day –"

"I have already told you, dear," Celena said patiently, "it would not be compatible with school discipline if some of the students started to travel home every day. Imagine how many people would be late. It doesn't matter that you live nearby, it would still look inappropriate. But think how much fun it will be, Sep, you'll feel all grown up, sleeping in the dormitory along with your classmates. And you will have Dad watching over you – and Fiona and Anna too. And we can all be together on weekends. And you already know you will have at least one good friend at school, which is more than most kids can say when they start – remember, Al's starting too!"

Celena spoke with excessive cheerfulness and she knew it. In fact, the prospect of having her youngest son go off to school, of not having children in the house anymore, seemed strange and she wasn't sure she was comfortable with it yet. Still, she knew she needed to reassure her son.

"Al and I might not end up in the same house," Sep pointed out rather gloomily.

Septimus looked very much like his father did as a boy, small and thin and stringy, and he had his father's pale skin and dark colors. But his black hair was sleeker than Severus's had been, and he had inherited his mother's nose rather than his father's hooked one. Celena ruffled her son's hair affectionately before telling him to be ready for dinner in an hour and a half.

Finally, after about an hour of Celena and Anna (and grumpy Fiona, who joined them after she had finished packing, or rather, haphazardly cramming all her belongings into her trunk) bustling in the kitchen, pudding was ready and gleaming plates, glasses and silverware were laid out on a crisp white tablecloth in the handsome dining room. A vase of flowers formed a refreshing centerpiece. Celena stepped back and admired her masterpiece of a setting.

Once the family began expanding, Severus and Celena bought a much roomier house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, far from the bustle of the High Street and the constant flow of visitors going in and out of Celena's shop. This cottage, which has been the family's place of residence since before Anna was born, had five bedrooms, a spacious living room, a large kitchen and a vast library. The garden was neat and well taken care of, with narrow little gravel paths, fruit trees and rose bushes and a manicured lawn. Celena took great pride in her house and never ceased to enjoy it.

Severus Snape slouched out of the library and walked into the dining room, where Anna was placing several jugs of iced orange juice upon the table and Celena was folding napkins with a casual flick of her wand.

Severus looked older now, after so many years that had elapsed, with more lines on his thin face and quite a lot of grey in his hair. But his lean tall figure, the prominent features of his face, his long hooked nose, were the same as ever.

"Why did you lay the table," he counted the plates, "for ten people?"

"The Potters are coming for dinner, Daddy," Anna piped happily.

"I thought it would be a nice surprise. All of us together for dinner on the last day of summer vacation, you know. And I thought it's also a nice way to celebrate your new appointment as Headmaster, dear," Celena said brightly.

One of the things Severus Snape had to get used to in the course of his marriage was frequently having company – often unexpected by him – for Saturday night dinner or Sunday brunch. Celena's family and friends often stopped by, and once the children grew up they started to bring friends over too, encouraged by their mother, which culminated in the memorable Christmas of last year, when Anna quite unexpectedly turned up accompanied by three of her school friends and only then thought of asking whether they can spend the holiday with her.

Inwardly Severus, who was always awkward when it came to associating himself with people and making social contacts, was grateful for Celena saving him from the life of a hermit he had led for many years prior to meeting her, and which would have undoubtedly been his destiny if he hadn't found a way to win her heart – an achievement he still marveled at, even after so many years together.

The doorbell rang musically.

"I think it's them, Severus," said Celena.

Anna rushed off to open the door, and they heard her tinkling laugh and a raised, excited voice of a teenage boy as she and James Potter greeted each other. Anna and James, who were in the same year, were quite fond of each other, which caused more than a few raised eyebrows among those who were not used to Gryffindor-Slytherin connections.

Harry and Ginny walked in, smiling at their son Albus, who enthusiastically rushed forward to share his excitement with Septimus. The two boys soon sat huddled together, two black heads leaning close, in the corner, comparing their new wands and poring over their school letters, each bearing a Hogwarts crest. Lily, the Potters' youngest daughter, shyly remained close to her mother, though from time to time she bestowed an admiring glance upon Septimus and immediately looked away, blushing.

Celena kissed Ginny on the cheek, and Harry shook hands with Severus.

"Congratulations on the appointment, Professor Snape," he said.

"Thank you," said Severus, "I confess, when Minerva told me she was planning to retire, I was not quite sure I fancy sitting in the Headmaster's chair once more."

"You will do brilliantly," Celena said, brimming with confidence, "I have no doubt of that."

"Yes, I think so too, Professor Snape," Harry nodded, "you did very well during that one year you were Headmaster, and that was probably the darkest year in the entire history of Hogwarts."

"Severus always underestimates his achievements," Celena told Harry and Ginny, "remember that paper you considered unworthy of anyone's attention, dear, and which later ended up as the year's biggest hit in _The Practical Potioneer_?"

"Yes, that really was a rather brilliant work of Dad's," said Fiona, who had just entered the room, abandoning her earlier sour expression and beaming at Harry, her godfather, of whom she was always extremely fond. "Though I must say it would have gained a lot if it had been written in a language ordinary mortals can understand."

All through dinner, there had been a great deal of conversation and laughter between James and Anna; Septimus, though, hardly noticed the four splendid courses his mother magicked onto the table one after another, and continued to talk to Albus in rapt whispers.

"Look at them," Ginny nudged Celena, smiling, "Albus Severus and Septimus Severus, there's strawberry and chocolate cake, look, if you don't come back to earth there won't be any left for you!"

After the Potters have traveled back home using the Floo network, and Anna and Septimus were ushered upstairs by their mother and told to go to bed early, Fiona lingered behind and followed her father to his study, where she found him sitting in a handsome leather armchair, perusing a copy of "Transfiguration Today".

"Dad," she said without preamble, "I need to talk to you."

Severus laid away his magazine and looked at his daughter intently. He always had better understanding with Fiona than with his other children, and he appreciated her sharp mind and quick wit, even though he sometimes declared she was too impertinent to put up with.

"If you came to pester me about dropping out of school again," he began, "I shall have to remind you, Fiona, that your mother and I have already –"

"No, no, it's not that," Fiona cut across him impatiently, something few people dared to do to Severus Snape, "I've packed my stuff, I'm going back to Hogwarts, hope you and Mum are happy now. No, it's about Anna."

"What about Anna?" asked Snape. His oldest daughter looked unusually solemn.

"I know you will be very busy this year as Headmaster, Dad," said Fiona, "and you won't be head of Slytherin anymore. You'll quit teaching Potions, too."

Snape didn't say a word. He waited.

"So?" he asked when Fiona didn't speak further.

"So make sure you still keep an eye on Anna, Dad. I will, too."

"Keep an eye on Anna?" asked Snape. He did not quite understand what Fiona meant. Anna's marks were really good, after all, though she was not quite as brilliant as her sister, she was an excellent Quidditch player, very popular, and did not land in detention even once during her past three years at school.

"I think I know why Anna ended up in Slytherin," Fiona ploughed on, "she is very talented and ambitious, and her brain is more than up to scratch – though people often miss that, focusing on her good looks," she added in an afterthought, "but she is too good and kind to rub shoulders with some of the people in her house."

"Some people?" asked Snape.

"Yes. People like Torbjorn Rowle, for example. Or Lavinia Malfoy and Gertrude Nott, Anna's best friends. And other creepy people, who are always, for some reason – no offence, Dad – concentrated in Slytherin. I don't want Anna to end up in trouble. Please watch out for her, Dad."

Snape surveyed her, thinking as he did that his firstborn is very nearly grown up. It was hard to believe Fiona was the baby now smiling toothlessly at him from an old framed photograph on his desk.

"I suppose you will now go on and tell me to take care of Septimus, too?" he asked ironically, quizzically raising an eyebrow.

"Don't worry," Fiona replied with an enigmatic note, "Sep won't be in Slytherin."

Alone with his wife in the privacy of his bedroom, Severus told her about his earlier conversation with their daughter. While she listened, Celena was brushing her hair in front of the large, ornate, silver-framed mirror. She was wearing a long, flowing, silky white nightdress. Severus never tired of watching her do ordinary things like brushing her hair, cooking, or preparing for bedtime. After seventeen years of marriage and three children, she did not look quite like the young woman who once took his hand, forging their lives together. A few feathery creases blemished the soft smoothness of her skin near her eyes and mouth, her figure became a little fuller in places, and a few threads of silver already wove into the luxurious chestnut of her locks. Still, she was even more beautiful to him with every year that went by – and it was hard to believe how many had already passed.

"You know, Sev, there is a point in what Fiona said," Celena perched herself on the bed next to him and rubbed his tense shoulders.

"I know," he nodded stiffly.

"It _is_ true that the house of Slytherin hosts, shall we say, peculiar company…"

Snape glared at his wife.

"What?" she raised her eyebrows, "Surely you aren't going to deny it, Severus! It has nothing to do with prejudice, it's statistics, as simple as that. The majority of Slytherins come from old, pure-blood families, many of which dabble in the dark arts. The house of Slytherin produced more dark wizards than all the other houses put together. And most of the witches and wizards Lord Voldemort recruited to his service were from Slytherin, including yourself, Severus – I know you were very young and regretted it soon afterwards," Celena hastened to add, "and did all you could to bring about Lord Voldemort's downfall! But the fact remains, Sev, that in Slytherin you found yourself associated with people like Avery and Malfoy and Rowle – and now our Anna spends most of her time with these people's children. Remember Gertrude Nott, the girl Anna brought here last Christmas? Some of the things she let slip during dinner were downright suspicious, but of course Anna wouldn't hear about it, she always believes the best about people…"

"If there is one thing Fiona got right," said Severus, "is that it will be a very busy year for me as Headmaster. Lots of staff changes. I am most skeptical about young Professor Hawthorn, of course – I think he'll somehow pull off teaching Potions, though not quite up to my own standards, of course – but I had to appoint him as Head of Slytherin in my stead, there was simply nobody else who was up to the job, and I'm afraid I didn't find him sufficiently competent –"

"Well, you thought _I_ was incompetent, remember?" Celena said slyly, "and you were forced to change your mind, weren't you?"

"I did not change my mind," Snape grimly, "On the contrary, I was so worried about the drooping standard of teaching Potions that I used the only method I could think of to remove you from Hogwarts – I made you Mrs. Snape."

Celena laughed. Her husband's sense of humor was less waspish after many years of happy family life and cordial relationships, yet he was still the number one fear of hundreds of students. She found it rather amusing.

"Hestia Jones will manage teaching Transfiguration, I believe," continued Snape, "not quite up to the level of work Minerva McGonagall had taught us to expect, but she'll have to do."

"I heard Hestia is highly skilled at Transfiguration," interjected Celena, "Uncle Remus told me so, and surely you can trust his judgment –"

"But _Longbottom_! When I first heard he applied to teach Herbology and Minerva recommended to hire him, I thought it was a rather tasteless joke –"

"Longbottom?" Celena frowned in concentration, "do you mean Neville Longbottom, who wrote _Magical Plants of Central and South America_ following his famous expedition to Bolivia and Peru?"

"I taught him," told Snape, "and I assure you, Longbottom is the most woefully inept –"

"Perhaps he was only bad at Potions," Celena said reassuringly, "not everyone can be good at everything, you know. Perhaps Herbology was one of his better subjects."

"I heard he got an Outstanding N.E.W.T," Snape admitted unwillingly.

"Well, there you go, Sev! I'm sure Professor Longbottom will do perfectly well."

For a while, they were silent, and Celena continued to rub his shoulders.

"I will miss having Septimus around," she finally confessed.


	3. King's Cross

"This is just so ridiculous – Mum, _why_ do we have to get up at the crack of dawn, travel to London, board the Hogwarts Express and arrive at school a few hours later, when we could simply hoist up our trunks and walk up to school?"

"Because arriving by train is traditional," Celena explained, trying to keep her patience, "because it's much easier to uphold discipline if everyone arrive at once. Because –"

"Because you don't want us to be underfoot while Dad is working on his speech," Fiona supplied acidly.

"Enough talking! Get up, Fiona, or you won't even have time for breakfast!"

Laden with three heavy trunks and two large cages, one of them containing an indignantly hooting Althea, the other a mewling Boots, Celena and her three children took the Knight Bus to London, where it dropped them off at King's Cross. At the end of their journey, which was full of twists, turns, lurches and abrupt stops, Althea was screeching, Boots didn't stop hissing after his cage fell over and rolled onto the floor, from where it was promptly rescued by Anna, who didn't stop issuing apologies. All of them were distinctly ruffled as they stepped onto platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"Have a good term," said Celena, "Fiona, I want to hear that you are working hard. Look after Anna and Septimus, won't you?" she added in an undertone as she bestowed a quick hug on her eldest daughter, "Don't worry, Sep, you'll do wonderfully!"

After seeing her children off, Celena took a Portkey back to Hogsmeade, and soon walked down the front lane to her home, where her husband welcomed her back with a glass of iced orange juice in his hands.

"Thank you, " she said, taking a grateful sip of the cold drink.

"Did you see the children off?"

"Yes. Don't worry, they will be just fine."

"Will you come up to Hogwarts tonight, to hear my first start-of-term speech?"

"Do you really think I would miss that?" Celena smiled, "Or Septimus's Sorting? Have you finished working on your speech, by the way?"

"Yes," said Severus, "why?"

"Because," Celena said playfully, putting down her glass of juice and wrapping her arms around his neck, "the children are gone, and you don't have to be at school until late afternoon at least – which means that for a few hours, I have you all to myself – and have I mentioned how handsome you look today… Headmaster?"

Fiona curtly nodded to Victoire Weasley, whom she passed on the train. Victoire was her mother's best friends' daughter, and when both girls were born, Celena and Fleur had hoped they would become friends as well – it had seemed natural, as Fiona and Victoire were the same age and even both ended up in Ravenclaw. But despite having shared a dormitory for the past five years, there was no particular friendship between them. Fiona found Victoire vain and light-headed, while Victoire in her turn thought Fiona was haughty, grumpy and nerdy.

Fiona found a compartment occupied by three chattering second-years, and without saying a word, found herself a seat by the window and unfolded a copy of "The Practical Potioneer", in which she immersed herself for the entire journey. She was more her father's daughter, you see, than she was willing to admit.

Anna, who was dragging her trunk and Boots's cage along the corridor of the speeding Hogwarts Express, didn't hear her name being called out at first. She was busy looking through windows of compartments, searching for her Slytherin friends.

"Anna! Hey, Anna!"

It was James Potter. He was beaming at her.

"I didn't see you on the platform – want to come and sit with us?"

"Thanks, James, but I already said I'd sit with Vinny and Gertie – now if only I could find them!"

And she went on, leaving James slightly disappointed. In a few minutes, she found her friends Lavinia Malfoy and Gertrude Nott, at a compartment at the very end of the train, and went to sit with them.

Septimus was determined to find Albus at first, but soon was forced to give up. His trunk was much too heavy for him, and he didn't know how much longer he will be able to keep his balance on the rattling, trundling train. He had already slammed into three people, two of whom were sixth-years who were at least two heads taller than him and looked furious. He gratefully spotted an empty compartment, heaved his trunk onto the luggage rack with enormous effort, and sat down, panting.

A moment later, the compartment door slid open and a boy with silvery blond hair and a pointed chin walked in, looking unruffled.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked in a rather bored voice.

"Go ahead," said Septimus. The boy heaved his trunk and put it next to Septimus's on the luggage rack.

"You are new too, aren't you?" asked the boy.

"Yeah," said Septimus, trying to sound casual.

"I'm starting too. What's your name?"

"Septimus Snape."

"Snape? Hang on – you are –"

"The new Headmaster's son, yes," replied Septimus. He disliked being branded as "Professor Snape's son" from the start, but figured he can't really help it.

"Your father taught my father. Dad had always admired Professor Snape – my name's Malfoy by the way, Scorpius Malfoy."

The two boys shook hands.

"Know what House you'll be in?" asked Scorpius Malfoy after a few moments' silence.

"Not sure," admitted Septimus, "my Dad was in Slytherin, but my older sister Fiona is in Ravenclaw. My other sister, Anna, is in Slytherin like our father. So I guess it's bound to be one of the two."

Scorpius Malfoy nodded, satisfied.

"I'll bet you'll be in Slytherin, your father was Head of Slytherin for many years, my father told me. I hope I'll be in Slytherin too, my father went there and so did the rest of our family."

This discourse was ended by the compartment's door banging open. Albus stood there, smiling, one hand on the handle of his school trunk. He was accompanied by a red-haired girl Septimus knew to be Al's cousin, Rose Weasley, who was starting at Hogwarts as well.

"There you are, Sep! We've been looking for you everywhere."

Chattering, Albus and Rose closed the compartment's door behind them and sat with Septimus. Upon their arrival, Scorpius Malfoy retreated into silence, and he and Septimus didn't exchange another word until the train stopped.

When the sunset blazed ruby red and the setting sun gleamed in the large windows, Celena raised her head from the pillow.

"Goodness, look at the time," she said airily, reaching for a dressing gown, "Severus, we really must get going, or the Sorting will start without us."

Severus was tempted to follow her to the shower when he heard the sounds of running water, but knew it was bound to take at least three times as long if he did. In a few quick, efficient movements he was dressed in his splendid green and silver robes and his hair was neatly parted and brushed. Soon, Celena was ready too. She had the gift of looking more sophisticated than any other woman in the room, seemingly without effort. Part of it, of course, was her exquisite taste in clothes. She chose midnight purple robes for the occasion, richly embroidered in golden thread. A magnificent chain of opals gleamed on her neck. Her hair was pulled up, sleek and shiny, and her feet were clad in slender high-heeled shoes. Even after so many years together, her beauty and elegance, and knowing that she is his wife, took Severus's breath away.

They made it on time. Celena went to sit with Professor McGonagall and other honored guests, while Severus Snape gathered the new teachers in his office and gave them a start-of-term talk.

"I do hope you understand the magnitude of the responsibility which is placed upon your shoulders as Hogwarts teachers. Hawthorn, Hestia, you are the new Heads of House, which adds an extra load to your already demanding teaching duties. Longbottom, this is your first teaching position. I expect you to handle it satisfactorily."

Jeremy Hawthorn was sitting on the edge of his chair, nodding eagerly to every word of his new Headmaster. Neville Longbottom looked pale, a trace of the frightened schoolboy visible through the grown man's face. Despite being a honored researcher in the field of Herbology and the author of several widely-known books about magical plants from various parts of the world, Neville had never quite gotten over his intimidation with Professor Snape, and only many letters from Professor McGonagall convinced him to apply for the teaching position.

Hawthorn was a man in his late twenties. With his wavy dark hair, wide-set grey eyes and a firmly aligned jaw, he was remarkably good-looking, though not in a self-conscious way. He was wearing dark green dress robes, to underline his belonging to Slytherin as the new head of house. He hoped to get into Professor Snape's good books fairly quickly. It would not be the first year of teaching for Professor Hawthorn, but never before he had taught in a school of such magnitude and honorable reputation as Hogwarts.

Hestia alone looked unruffled by Professor Snape's words. She and Snape had known each other for many years now, through their common work for the Order of the Phoenix, and she was not impressed by his intimidating manner. Hestia was going to be the new head of Hufflepuff house, after Pomona Sprout opted for early retirement. Hestia had been a Hufflepuff herself, and looked forward to starting her new job.

The four teachers descended down many flights of stairs into the Great Hall, where students were already sitting, laughing and talking, according to their House tables. The tables were laden with golden plates and goblets. Thousands of candles were floating in mid-air. The four house banners and the colorful dress robes of teachers and guests broke the black mass of school uniforms.

"You forgot this," whispered Celena, who now occupied the chair on Severus's right – a privilege that was reserved for her by the Deputy Headmaster, her uncle Remus Lupin. Out of her small satin bag, she pulled a golden badge bearing the Hogwarts crest – a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake, all entwined around a large letter "H". The Headmaster's badge. A slight shiver ran down Severus's spine as she pinned the badge to his chest.

"It looks well on you," she whispered, smiling.

First-years filed into the Hall, led by Hagrid. Some of them were looking excited, others anxious, and some downright scared. Squinting, Severus Snape found his son in the middle of the crowd. Septimus's face was pale and set. A look at his wife told Severus she had seen their son too. He felt her warm hand on his knee under the high staff table, and her warm thigh pressed against his without anyone knowing. Despite the tension of the moment, his mind momentarily drifted to the few happy hours they spent together earlier in the day. In the course of their marriage, her effect on him grew stronger, like fine wine.

One by one, as their names were called, the boys and girls approached the ancient three-legged stool and tried on the Sorting Hat, which shouted out the name of the house to which they now belonged. For some, the Sorting took a mere second, with others it was a whole minute before the Hat reached its decision. Unsurprisingly for Snape and Celena, Albus Potter was declared a Gryffindor the moment the Hat touched his head. Soon, it was Septimus's turn. Snape peered into his son's pale face as he approached the stool on trembling legs, sat down, thrust the Hat upon his head and waited.

For about half a minute, the Hall was still and silent, and then a rip near the brim of the Sorting Hat opened like a mouth and shouted:

"Gryffindor!"

Snape met his wife's eyes, astonished. He assumed he looked just as awestruck as she did. Anna gaped at her brother as he walked, almost unconsciously, in the direction of the table under a red and gold banner, where Al Potter, looking beside himself with happiness, budged up to make a space for Septimus and leaned close to whisper something in his ear. James Potter clapped Septimus on the back, looking pleasantly surprised. At the Slytherin table, several people looked shocked as well. Scorpius Malfoy, who had already moved to make room for Septimus, looked as though he had swallowed something unpleasant, and Gertrude Nott mouthed "_Gryffindor?_" to Lavinia Malfoy. Only Fiona looked unsurprised, and a slight smile played at the corners of her lips. She knew her brother better than them all, she had foreseen this.

Celena nudged her husband in the ribs. From the Gryffindor table, their son was looking up at them, his expression quizzical. Celena beamed and waved at Septimus, and Severus gave a forced smile.

After the Sorting, Severus got up to make a speech. Anna was listening to her father with rapt attention, her back straight and her cheeks flushed with pride, drinking in every word. Fiona, however, stifled a yawn. Her father talked about upholding ancient traditions and setting higher standards of academic achievement, and she found it all awfully boring. After looking furtively around her, she pulled out a copy of "The Magical Menagerie" and attempted to read, but was forced to lay the book aside after a furious glance from her mother.

Thankfully, the speech wasn't long. Soon, Snape sat back down in his seat, and a moment later, the five tables groaned under the weight of food and drink. Her stomach rumbling, Fiona pulled several plates towards her at once. She always had a healthy appetite, but it seemed that no matter how much she ate, she would always remain thin like a starved crow.

After her hunger was quenched, Fiona's attention was attracted by the boy sitting on her left. The greenish hue of his skin and the few pockmarks on his face gave away that he was clearly just recovering from a severe form of dragon pox. Fiona was absolutely sure she had never seen this boy at Hogwarts before. Instead of eating his way through the delicious feast, he merely stared gloomily at his plate. Fiona continued to watch him from the corner of her eye, and was confident he hadn't touched even a morsel of all the food that was served, from the pumpkin soup to the chocolate éclairs.

A scraping of chairs and a tumult of many feet marked the end of the feast. Fiona got up and allowed herself to be carried away in the direction of Ravenclaw tower with all her fellow students.

Fiona shared her dormitory with Victoire Weasley, Rebecca Merrythought, Susan Farrell and Emma Hudson. When she climbed upstairs, the room was already full of excited giggling and whispering of the four girls, who were delighted to be back together after a summer break, and were now busy exchanging fresh news and gossip. When Fiona entered the room, they broke off.

"Hi, Fiona," said Emma, with whom Fiona was on slightly better terms than with the other roommates.

"Hi, Emma," said Fiona, "hi, everyone. Had a good summer, I hope?"

She always tried to be civil.

"Oh, an excellent summer," giggled Susan, "except for the day when my O. results arrived, I thought my parents were going to disown me –"

"You mean your _O.W.L_," Rebecca chimed in, "the only one you managed to scrap."

Victoire, Rebecca, Emma and Susan rolled in a fit of girlish laughter. Fiona fought an urge to roll her eyes. She gave a scowl which she hoped to pass for a polite smile, and made her way towards her four-poster. With its deep blue velvet hangings, it looked very inviting after a long, full day. Her things had already been brought up. She rummaged in her trunk for a pair of pajamas, took a quick shower, climbed into her bed, lit the small oil lamp on her bedside table, and immersed herself once more in "The Magical Menagerie". She tried very hard to block out the whispering and giggling of her roommates, but sometimes she just couldn't help overhearing snatches of conversation.

"… And so Roger Wilkins actually had the nerve to tell her he liked Catherine Sparks better all along…"

"… Have you seen her dress robes, I think those were in fashion, what, about fifty years ago…"

"… At the rate those house-elves are going, we will be absolute _cows_ by the end of term, the food was so fattening tonight, I doubt I will fit into my robes for much longer…"

One by one, the girls finally fell asleep. Once their deep, slow breathing filled the room and Fiona was quite sure she is the only one still awake, she reached for her wand, which she had placed on her bedside table, slid her feet into a pair of warm slippers, and tiptoed into the corridor outside the girls' dormitories. A large mirror was hanging there.

Being able to use magic again after a summer break was a huge relief. Fiona pointed the wand at her hair, which was shoulder-length, and it started shrinking rapidly. When it was shorter than her ears, Fiona gave a satisfied nod. She was forever arguing with her mother about the proper length of hair for a girl. Celena had never let Fiona keep it as short as she liked. Shaking her delightfully short hair out of her eyes, Fiona headed downstairs for the common room, where she thought she might have forgotten her copy of "The Practical Potioneer" earlier in the evening.

The common room was empty except for the boy with dragon pox Fiona had noticed at the feast. He was sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs between the fireplace and the bust of Rowena Ravenclaw, a fork in one of his hands and a thick book in the other. A tray, heavily laden with food, was placed on the table in front of him, and he was munching away with undisguised appetite.

"Are these runes?" Fiona squinted, glancing at the title of the book. She couldn't quite make it out in the dim light of the low fire.

The boy lifted his eyes from his book and looked at her. Fiona saw now that he had intelligent dark eyes, curly brown hair and a rather prominent nose.

"No, it's Finnish," he said, "my father works for the Department of International Magical Co-operation, and we spent the past five years in Finland. The language was difficult enough to learn, and I want to keep up with it."

Five years in Finland. Well, that explained his sudden appearance at Hogwarts.

"You didn't eat anything at the feast," Fiona noted, privately admitting to herself that she is probably being nosy. The boy, however, looked unabashed.

"I'm Jewish, you see," he explained, "my family is rather observant. And naturally, the Hogwarts food isn't kosher. Luckily, we have a house elf. We made an arrangement for him to come with me to school, and he will be cooking me meals separately."

"Oh," said Fiona, understanding dawning on her, "I see – it didn't occur to me. I have never met anyone Jewish."

"It's not easy, being a Jewish wizard," told the boy. "Jews have always been a small and often persecuted community – rather like wizards, actually. Being part of two minorities poses quite a few challenges. I'm Leonard Cohen, by the way," he added as an afterthought, "but you can call me Lenny."

"I'm Fiona Snape," said Fiona, bracing herself for what was to come.

"Snape? Not –"

"Yes, yes," she said exasperatedly, "the Headmaster's daughter. I sometimes wish I could change my surname, honestly. So – Lenny – does it mean you will never be able to eat with everyone else?"

"I'm afraid so," said Lenny, rather gloomily, "and there are going to be some other restrictions, too. I will be gone from school several times during the year for the Jewish holidays. I have permission to do that, but I will have to catch up with schoolwork later on my own."

"Isn't there a school for Jewish wizards?" Fiona asked curiously.

"Nope. There are schools for Jews, and there are," Lenny made a sweeping motion of his hand, gesturing towards the common room, "schools for wizards. There aren't enough Jewish wizards in Britain to form a separate school, and Jewish parents don't like to send their kids abroad. Going to school is new to me. I was mostly home educated until now. This will be an interesting change."

"I didn't want to go back," Fiona told him, "but my Mum had a fit and eventually I agreed to come for this year. I could have run off, of course, but I thought that perhaps it's better for me to be here after all. I have a younger sister and brother here, I don't want to leave them alone."

"Oh?" Lenny raised an eyebrow, "Alone? But your father's Headmaster, isn't he?"

"Yes," Fiona shrugged, "a Headmaster, up there in his Headmaster's office. I don't expect him to have too much time to look after his kids."

"I have six sisters," Lenny told Fiona, "and once they are sixteen, they will attend Hogwarts as well for sixth and seventh year. My parents are broad-educated, but they say they don't know most of the subjects well enough to teach them at N.E.W.T level. And they also want us to be officially qualified so that it will be easier for us all to get good jobs once we are done with school."

"Well," Fiona smiled, "if there are enough Jews in this school, perhaps the elves will learn how to cook kosher. I'm going to bed," she got up and stretched her tired limbs, "nice to meet you, Lenny. I expect I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow… or on a second thought, perhaps I won't."

She smiled teasingly and made her way up to the girls' dormitories.


	4. Battling rumors

But as it turned out, Fiona did see Lenny at breakfast.

"I heard they will be giving out timetables," he explained as Fiona looked quizzically at his empty plate, while spreading a rich portion of strawberry jam over her toast, "didn't want to miss that."

Handing out the timetables was a task delegated to Professor Hawthorn, and he obviously took it very seriously. He carried a long list bearing the students' names, and in the case of sixth-years, notes on which O. they have completed and which N.E. they have signed up to take. Fiona's timetable was quite full, as she was taking Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and of course, as befits Professor Snape's daughter, Potions.

Lenny's timetable was a lot like her own, minus Care of Magical Creatures. Instead, he took History of Magic.

"History of Magic?" Fiona peered into his timetable disbelievingly, _"History of Magic?"_

"I find it fascinating," Lenny replied loftily.

"Well, to each their own," Fiona shrugged, "but I'm warning you, around here the subject is taught by Professor Binns, he's a ghost and I could never get through his classes without dozing off. Are you sure you can't eat anything here?" she added pityingly, looking at his empty plate.

"Oh, go ahead," he said sarcastically, "pass that plate of eggs and bacon."

"Ha, ha… very funny…"

As ignorant as Fiona was about Jewish matters, one bit of information she knew for sure. Jews don't eat bacon.

A few minutes later, they started off for Arithmancy together.

During the morning break, Fiona heard a voice behind her in the courtyard. Someone was calling her name breathlessly. It was Anna.

"Hey," said Fiona, "what's up?"

"First Quidditch practice this weekend," said Anna, smiling from ear to ear. She looked very excited. "Will you come and see me fly, Fiona?"

"Practice?" Fiona frowned, "I thought they usually hold tryouts first."

"Usually, yes," Anna nodded, "but Torbjorn says he saw me play last year and he knows he won't find anyone better than me. He told me today I can count myself in already."

"Did he, now?" Fiona's eyebrows became knitted together even closer. She didn't like one bit what she was hearing – not that Torbjorn Rowle was made Quidditch captain, and not that he was so keen to get Anna on the team, which, Fiona knew, had little to do with his confidence in her sister's talent. "I still think he should hold tryouts, if only to be fair."

"Oh, come on, Fiona," Anna laughed airily, "it sounds as though you don't think I'm good enough! Be at the Quidditch pitch on Saturday at ten, right after breakfast."

In the meantime, Septimus was strolling along the courtyard when he heard whispered mutterings.

"Honestly, I wish there was a different school to go to…"

"If he favored the Slytherins until now, I see no reason why that should change now he's Headmaster –"

"Look at the bright side, at least we don't have to endure him during Potions now, that bullying, evil –"

The two Gryffindor third-years had to stop abruptly when one of them, Dan Middleton, had a wand stuck at the bridge of his nose, the furious face of Septimus very close to his.

"You shut your mouth about my Dad!" bellowed Septimus.

Undoubtedly, Dan Middleton didn't feel entirely comfortable with a wand at his face, but he tried to keep his voice steady.

"Snape, isn't it? Go ahead, then, show us what curses you learned from your father – no doubt he still remembers a few tricks he learned from the time he worked for You-Know-Who – go ahead –"

"You are lying!" yelled Sep, "my Dad would never have anything to do with the Dark Arts! He could never support You-Know-Who!"

And forgetting all about his wand, he punched Dan Middleton hard on the nose. There was a sickening crunch and a gushing flow of blood, and Septimus felt himself being pulled up forcefully by the scruff of his neck.

"An' what's that yeh think yeh're doin'?" demanded an angry voice. Dan and his friends exchanged gleeful looks: it was Rubeus Hagrid, the Head of Gryffindor house and Care of Magical Creatures teacher, and they have rarely seen him looking so furious.

"He started it," Dan Middleton said quickly, "he hit me!" The other boy nodded.

"He was having a go at my Dad, he was telling dirty lies about him!" shouted Septimus, breathing heavily with rage.

"Off ter the hospital wing you go, then, Dan," said Hagrid, "move along, now, there's nothin' ter look at," he added to the small crowd of students that had grouped around them to watch the scene. "An' you, Snape, come with me. C'mon."

He marched Septimus forward, into the sunlit grounds, past the greenhouses, and in the direction of his cabin. Once they were standing outside his door, Septimus spoke again. He was more composed now.

"He was saying horrible things about my father, sir," he said, "I couldn't let him –"

"We teach yeh more'n magic here at Hogwarts," growled Hagrid, "we teach yeh how ter control yerselves, and as yer Head of House, Snape, I will tell yeh righ' away that violence isn't tolerated here, an' if yeh hit someone else, unprovoked, ever again, I will take yeh straight ter the –"

"Headmaster?" prompted Septimus, "Go ahead, sir, I will be glad to tell my Dad that – that –"

"Tell?" Hagrid said softly, "surely yeh wouldn' tell on them, lad?"

The words died in Septimus's throat. He knew his father too well not to understand that telling the tale might well result in expulsion for Dan and his friend, if not worse.

"It'll be detention, then, Snape," said Hagrid, "tonight, after dinner, right here. Don' be late, mind, yeh won' go up ter bed until yeh're done."

… "Wow, Sep," James Potter sounded almost jealous, "I think even I never managed to land in detention on the first day of school! What will you be doing?"

"No idea," shrugged Septimus, a grain of worry springing up in his mind. What _will_ he be doing? It will be dark after dinner, and Hagrid's hut was right on the edge of the dark and mysterious Forbidden Forest.

He hadn't told his friends exactly why he ended up hitting Dan Middleton. He muttered something vague about Dan saying nasty stuff about his father.

"Don't worry, Sep," said Albus, "we know Hagrid, he's alright, he won't make you do anything too horrible."

Still, it was with a heavy heart that Septimus made his way down the sloping lawns after dinner. The sun was setting and the grounds looked mysterious in the lengthening shadows, and the way to Hagrid's cabin seemed to take twice as long as it did when he went there in the morning.

"Good, yeh're here," said Hagrid, opening the door after Septimus's tentative knock, "c'min, now, I thought yeh'd do summat useful fer me."

Septimus looked around him. He had met Hagrid several times before he started at Hogwarts, and therefore was not surprised to see that just about everything in Hagrid's house – from the bed in the corner and the roughly carved wooden chairs to the bucket-sized mugs upon the vast table – seemed much larger than he would have expected to see in households of normal humans.

And then Septimus let out a soft "wow", because resting on a rug by the enormous fireplace was a creature of breathtaking beauty, the likes of which he had never seen before – a unicorn foal, pure silver, with slender legs and a silky long tail.

"He's been feeling a bit under the weather," explained Hagrid, "so I decided I'd keep 'im in me hut fer a couple o'days, until he recovers. I need ter prepare food fer him – yeh'll help me do it, alright, Septimus?"

Hagrid gestured towards the table, which displayed a selection of young carrots, celery roots, radishes, apples and pears.

"Start by slicin' a couple of apples," suggested Hagrid, "and offer them ter 'im. If he likes it, cut up some fer tomorrow."

Septimus started working, feeling enormously relieved. The young unicorn seemed to have taken a liking to him, and by the end of the first few minutes, he was already stroking its sleek silver hair.

"Unicorns are really beau'iful at this age," Hagrid told, "this one's abou' three years old. I'll have ter show him ter yer sister, Fiona – we always got along great, me an' her, she really has a sense fer treating magical creatures."

When Septimus finished making a supply of chopped carrots and radishes for the sick unicorn, Hagrid walked him back to the castle. Septimus's heart was light. He felt as though the detention was a real treat, Hagrid was not as threatening as he looked, and he got an invitation to come to tea next Friday, together with Al.

… On Saturday, Fiona made her way down to the Quidditch pitch, which was booked in advance by Torbjorn Rowle. She didn't like what she saw. There was no doubt Anna flew well, but even if she hadn't, Fiona thought that Rowle's enthusiasm would remain unchanged. Anna's willowy figure was darting on a broomstick among the goalposts, her long chestnut hair tied into a sleek, shiny knot. Torbjorn Rowle watched her with an admiration which sometimes passed, unnoticed, into a look of pure greed. After practice was over and the Slytherin players started filing out of the changing rooms, Fiona pulled her sister aside.

"I'm glad you could make it, Fiona," Anna said brightly, "how was I?"

"Really good," winced Fiona, "but… there's something else, Anna."

"Yes?" prompted Anna, a faint crease of concern appearing on her smooth brow.

"I think Rowle fancies you, Anna."

"Torbjorn?" Anna's expression became enthusiastic, "Gertie and Vinny said so too – that he might be – you know – interested." She giggled. "I don't want to get my hopes up yet, though. After all, he's two years older than me, and very good looking – and he's Quiddtich captain! I mean, I certainly wouldn't say no to him, but I might just have to take a ticket and stand in line."

Whatever Anna said, it was impossible not to notice Rowle's obvious attentions towards her. On Sunday morning, he left his faithful knot of Slytherin sixth-years to sit next to Anna at breakfast. Fiona couldn't hear what they were talking about at their table, but Rowle often leaned close to her sister under the pretext of refilling her glass or passing her a plate of rolls, and Fiona saw Anna's dazzling smile every time he did that. It made her blood boil.

She was quite grumpy that evening when she went up to the common room, where she joined Lenny in one of the armchairs by the fire. Lenny was feverishly jotting down a Transfiguration essay; his roll of parchment was trailing down from the table onto the floor, and his quill was scurrying back and forth, filling the parchment with crumpled minuscule letters.

An open box of kosher toffees was lying among Lenny's pile of schoolbooks. Without saying a word, Fiona unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth.

"I ought to start working on that essay for Professor Jones too," Fiona thickly said through a mouthful of toffee, rummaging in her bag for her books, parchment and quill.

"Want to have a look at what I wrote?" Lenny offered, pushing his almost finished homework towards her, "I must say this school has some pretty high standards – took me almost all evening, this essay. Is everything alright, Fiona?"

"Torbjorn Rowle is trying to woo my sister," Fiona confessed, "and I'm afraid he as good as succeeded."

"Torbjorn Rowle?" an expression of unpleasant recognition passed upon Lenny's face, "not Thorfinn Rowle's son?"

"That's the one," said Fiona, "have you heard of Rowle senior, then?"

"Oh, Thorfinn Rowle wasn't just any old Death Eater," Lenny said conversationally, "he had a special corner in his heart for Jewish wizards. Hated us worse than Muggle-borns. He murdered a Jewish wizarding family near Birmingham – I'm not sure if he ever met any Jewish Muggles, but if he did, I don't envy them."

Fiona listened to Lenny with a look of deep disgust etched upon her face.

"I don't think Torbjorn Rowle is much different," she said, "he's more than a bully. He's creepy. He's not simply a troublemaker like, say, James Potter – he's sinister and I don't like seeing him around Anna. I don't like it at all. Obviously he fancies her because of her good looks, but the fact that our father is Headmaster – I doubt he overlooks that, either…"

"And you think your sister might start going out with him?" asked Lenny, concerned.

"I'm afraid so," Fiona nodded glumly, "he's too clever to let Anna see how he treats people, and he can be charming when he wants to. He's not bad looking, I have to give him that, and he's not an idiot."

"Well, if you don't want them to end up together," Lenny said slowly, "provide a distraction."

For a few moments Fiona stared at him, puzzled. Then, a dreamy smile lit up her face.

"There is someone who is rather good at providing distractions," she said triumphantly, "and I know for a fact he likes Anna."


	5. Beauty, beast and sister

On his second Potions class, Septimus somehow made a mistake that caused his cauldron to crack, leaving a puddle of hissing and steaming liquid underneath. Professor Hawthorn, who seemed to be a very kind, patient man, didn't take any points off Gryffindor, but only requested Septimus to stay behind after class and clean.

"Go on without me," Septimus said to Al and Rose, "go on, Madam Hooch will be waiting for you. Tell her I'm coming."

The first-years were taking their flying lessons, something everyone had been greatly looking forward to.

"Alright, hope it doesn't take too long!" Albus said sympathetically before hurrying off with Rose.

With a sigh, Septimus ducked under the desk. When he next emerged, holding a sodden rug in his hand, he saw Scorpius Malfoy standing next to him.

"Hey," said Septimus, "won't you be late?"

"I heard you got detention for punching Dan Middleton in the nose after he talked trash about your father," Malfoy said approvingly.

"Yeah, well…" muttered Septimus. He wasn't really interested in going into details. "It wasn't that bad – I just had to do some work for Hagrid –"

"I would have done the same if I were you," said Malfoy, "wouldn't let scum like Middleton talk about my family like that."

"Yeah, thanks, I really –"

"I just wanted you to know, Snape, that there are many people in this school and out of it who support your father. My grandfather, for one, always said that Professor Snape was one of the only Hogwarts Headmasters who ever had the right attitude about Muggles and Mudbloods."

Scorpius Malfoy gave him one last nod, picked up his things and left. Septimus was frozen in place, the dirty rug still in his hand, dripping all over the dungeon floor.

"Mudbloods?" he whispered, "Dad never even used that word!"

… Fiona walked out of greenhouse three, cradling her left arm. All in all, not one of her best Herbology lessons. She got a bad bite off a Venomous Tentacula, and instinctively slashed at it with her wand in defense. She was afraid Professor Longbottom would take points off her for doing damage to a valuable plant, but he only gave her some extra homework, which wasn't too bad.

Her mood brightened a little when on her way up to the castle she walked into a group of Gryffindor fourth-years going on their way to Care of Magical Creatures. She had tried to corner James for a couple of days now, but it wasn't easy to do, since they weren't in the same house or in the same year, and she didn't want to talk to him during meal times because she didn't plan on being overheard.

"What's up, Fiona?" James asked when she pulled him aside from his friends, "you'd better make this quick, or we'll be late for Hagrid."

"James," Fiona decided to start without preamble, "do you like Anna?"

James blushed, which didn't happen to him often, and mumbled something incoherent.

"I tried to ask her out at the end of last year, remember?" he finally said, "it was you who put your foot down and said Anna's too young to have a boyfriend."

"I still think she's too young," countered Fiona, "but if Anna must have a boyfriend, I'd much rather see her with you than with Rowle."

"Rowle?" James's eyes squinted in dislike, "Torbjorn Rowle? The Slytherin Quidditch captain?"

"That's the one."

"He's revolting," said James. "He called Dominique Weasley a 'dirty blood-traitor' the other day, did you know that? Reduced her to tears, that did. Don't tell me he's trying to get Anna to go out with him!"

"He is," Fiona said grimly, "and if you don't do something soon, it's a matter of days until he is successful."

"But to ask her out, I must at least get her on her own," said James reasonably, "and the next Hogsmeade weekend is still a month and a half away!"

"Here's an idea," said Fiona, "you can organize a party in the Gryffindor common room, and invite Anna. And I can send a note home today and ask Mum to send some Butterbeers with a couple of owls. I know Mum, she won't ask questions if I tell her we're having a start-of-term party."

"Yes," said James, brightening, "and we can always nick some food from the kitchens, I've been doing that for ages –"

"And I'll convince Hagrid to turn a blind eye. But listen, James, a party is a great setting, but you also need to do something special that will be just for Anna. It's her birthday in a week, remember?"

"Yes," said James, "yes, I will think of something."

A dreamy expression started to spread over James's face as he finally headed off towards Care of Magical Creatures.

… If there was one thing that got Fiona even more concerned than the increasing prominence of Torbjorn Rowle among the Slytherins and his casting his charms over Anna, it was the lack of authority on Professor Hawthorn's part. Fiona's father, Severus Snape, had been head of Slytherin house for many years. However unpopular he might have been, however unpleasant, Fiona knew he steered with an unyielding hand to keep the Slytherins in line. He had prevented countless occurrences of using Dark and dangerous magic, broke off gatherings of people for whom it was unhealthy to group together, and discovered and snapped plots that might have resulted in something far more sinister than simple schoolchildren's pranks. As Headmaster, Snape obviously didn't have the time to track suspicious actions of individual Slytherins, which means that this mission fell into the lap of the one who succeeded him as Head of Slytherin. However, Professor Hawthorn was clearly not up to the task. There was no doubt he was brilliant. Fiona, who often surpassed her teachers in both understanding and knowledge, willingly admitted that. During their very first Potions lesson of the term, Professor Hawthorn had shown them several solutions that were simply amazing, leaving Fiona full of admiration and confident that one day, the talent of Jeremy Hawthorn might even surpass the one of her genius father.

"It's crucial to remember that you don't just mix and stir," he told the small group of N.E.W.T students, "Potion-making isn't cooking a pot of soup. The work of a true Potioneer penetrates the very heart of substance, causing it to yield to your will."

Upon hearing this, Lenny Cohen was deeply impressed. He pulled out a small black notebook out of an inner pocket of his robes and wrote down Professor Hawthorn's words. He normally used that notebook to copy inspirational quotes from famous books, or sayings of foreign Ministers – something Fiona regarded as "the epitome of geekiness." That was the first time he honored a Hogwarts teacher with a place in his notebook.

Lenny's presence soon became a source of immense comfort for Fiona. Extraordinarily sharp, witty and sometimes sarcastic, he was also obviously kind and caring, and finally, after five years, Fiona felt she had a real friend in Hogwarts, someone who understood her and whose intelligence her own didn't surpass by light years, unlike how she felt when she was in the company of Victoire, Emma, Rebecca and Susan.

Close to the end of September, Lenny unexpectedly disappeared for a few days. He didn't say a word about leaving and Fiona was starting to become concerned, when she spotted Lenny at breakfast once again, starting blankly at his empty plate.

"Where have you been?" She asked without further ado.

"Been celebrating Rosh-ha-Shana with my family," Lenny explained quietly over the noise of the Great Hall. "The Jewish New Year, you know. I'll bet there's so much work for me to catch up on now, it'll take days."

"Haven't you ever wanted to stop being a Jew?" Fiona blurted out, regretting it a moment later when Lenny gave her a look that was almost pitying.

"Ever fancied to snap your wand in two and go off to live with Muggles?" he asked.

… Unfortunately, the party in the Gryffindor common room, though undoubtedly a smashing success, didn't quite yield the effects Fiona had hoped for. Tables were laden with Butterbeers and Gillywaters, and crisps and peanuts and heaps of Chocolate Frogs and Cauldrons, but it was not enough to make something happen between James and Anna. Even his singing "Happy Birthday" heart-shaped banner didn't lead to more than a smile and a friendly peck on the cheek from Anna.

The next day, Fiona saw Anna with an unfamiliar jewel around her neck – an old-looking delicate moonstone on a spun chain.

"Is that _gold_, Anna?" Fiona asked with a sinking heart when her sister had shown her the pendant, shining with enthusiasm.

"Yes," said Anna, "Torbjorn gave it to me for my birthday, isn't it beautiful? He got it from his mother a while back, she told him he can give it to – to a girl, when there's someone special – and," she blushed crimson, "he said he could never think of giving it to anyone but me! Oh, Fiona, we aren't officially going out yet, but it's bound to happen soon! It's so exciting, isn't it?"

Just how exciting things got between Torbjorn Rowle and her sister, Fiona witnessed later that day, when she unexpectedly walked in on them in an empty corridor. They were kissing in a way that made Fiona hot in the face; one of Rowle's hands was at the small of Anna's back, the other buried in her thick and wavy hair, and he was pressing her to him too powerfully and possessively to Fiona's liking. She had managed to shuffle away without either of them noticing her, busy as they were.

"Don't worry, James," Fiona said to a dispirited James Potter as she patted him on the back, "Anna has enough brains to figure out what a scumbag Rowle is, and when she does she will dump him."

But even though Fiona tried to encourage James, she was more concerned than she was letting on. No, she didn't actually think Rowle and Anna would end up married – the very thought was preposterous – or even that they would be together for a long time – but who knows how much damage this relationship can do while it lasts?

They had Potions after lunch. Fiona had no idea how on earth Rowle managed to scrape an "Exceeds Expectations" in his O.W.L last year, but the fact remained that he was one of the few Slytherins who went on to N.E.W.T level, and when Fiona entered the dungeon classroom that had been her father's for so long, she saw Rowle at one of the back desks, taking out his cauldron, scales and potion-making kit. The satisfied smirk on his face made Fiona's blood boil. Quietly and quickly, she made her way towards him until she was standing very close.

"Don't mess with my sister, Rowle," she said in a low hiss.

Clearly, that wasn't enough to wipe the smirk off Torbjorn Rowle's broad face. He was tall and muscular, with sleek blond hair and a strong jaw, and his pale eyes looked like two ice chips. Fiona supposed he would have looked handsome if there wasn't something so malicious etched in every feature of his face. She wondered how Anna had missed that.

"What are you talking about?" he asked almost lazily. "I'm not messing –"

"Just watch your step, Rowle," snapped Fiona, "and not only because our father is Headmaster. I will be personally keeping an eye on you."

"Sure, Fiona," said Rowle with the same maddeningly lazy smirk, and proceeded to pulling his copy of "Advanced Potion-making" out of his bag.

But Fiona got the satisfaction of at least a small revenge at the end of that very hour. While Torbjorn Rowle wasn't looking, she caused a few scarab eyes to soar into his cauldron using the Wingardium Leviosa spell, thus rendering his entire work useless and causing him to get bottom marks for the lesson.

On Friday afternoon, after classes and before dinner, Fiona knocked on the door of the Headmaster's office, which was now her father's. She scarcely saw her father since the start of term, and now felt that talking to him could no longer be delayed.

Her father answered her knock with a grouchy "come in", much like her own, the thought of which made the corners of her mouth twitch in a small smile. Unabashed, she walked in. She had always loved the Headmaster's office, even on occasions she happened to be there because of some serious mischief in her earlier years in school. It was a beautiful circular room, lined with portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses and countless magical artifacts.

"Fiona," her father gave her a nod that was supposed to be strict, but she knew better and leaned to kiss him on the cheek, "having a good start of term?"

"As good as can be, considering that I still think it was a waste of time to come back once I got my O.. And Victoire is getting insufferable now that she has," Fiona rolled her eyes, "a steady boyfriend. It's our Teddy Lupin, you know, Mum's favorite cousin. But at least I have a friend now, thanks to the lucky fact that you decided to put Lenny Cohen in Ravenclaw."

"I knew he would do well there," said Snape, "the boy is unusually bright, I was really rather impressed by –"

"Dad," Fiona cut across him, "did you know Septimus landed himself in detention because he punched someone in the face for saying you used to dabble in the Dark Arts?"

"Wh-what?" Fiona knew her words hit the spot when she saw the flush creeping up her father's face. "No – I didn't know that. What happened to Septimus?"

"Oh, he had to do some work for Hagrid, but that's totally beside the point. The question is, _when are you going to tell him the truth?_"

"Septimus is too young," said Snape, not quite meeting his daughter's eyes.

"You have always been a hero in Sep's eyes," Fiona pressed on, "I just don't think it's fair he should continue breaking noses because he thinks people are lying about you, when in fact all they do is tell the truth, though admittedly not in a very pleasant way."

Snape opened his mouth to form a scathing retort to this tirade, but his words were lost in the continuation of Fiona's speech:

"Besides, I don't think you will be able to hide it from Septimus for as long as you did with me. Dad, the school is full of kids of people who knew you as a Death Eater. I never liked to socialize much, so I never found out until you told me last year. But Anna already knows. In fact, she has known it these past two years."

"She… she knows?" Snape said weakly.

"Yes, but I think that what should bother you more is how she reacted to it. She wasn't even shocked. In Slytherin, a past as a Death Eater equals to daring and grandeur, and with friends like Lavinia Malfoy and Gertrude Nott, I won't be surprised if she even admires you for it, even if she never brought this up."

"I should hope not," Snape muttered darkly.

"She is going out with Torbjorn Rowle," Fiona spilled out her last bit of shocking news for the evening.

"Torbjorn Rowle – the son of Thorfinn Rowle! When did this start?"

"Not too long ago, though I don't think that was for lack of trying on Rowle's part. I have noticed how he looked at Anna last term."

"Anna is too young to have a boyfriend. And Rowle…"

"Many girls in Anna's year are going steady with someone, Dad," Fiona said exasperatedly, "and in case you haven't noticed, Anna is taking after Mum and blossoming into a beauty with every day that passes by. But when it comes to Torbjorn Rowle, we are in agreement. I don't think Anna should be seeing him, no matter whether she is fourteen or twenty-four. I had tried to make her get together with James Potter instead," she continued, ignoring the look of indignant incredulity on her father's face, "but it didn't work. She is infatuated with Rowle. Dad, I have tried to tell you this before the start of term. Keep an eye on Anna."

"I should get out of this office more," said Severus Snape, resolutely pushing away a pile of untouched paperwork sitting on his desk, awaiting perusal. "Too much tedious paper-pushing, too many meetings with the board of governors. Too little time to observe what is happening in my school."

"Now you're talking, Dad," said Fiona with a look of grim satisfaction.


	6. Falling towers

After dinner on Monday, Septimus dashed to the library for a few quick references he was going to use in his Charms homework. He loved the Hogwarts library, which was an endless source of information, but that night he knew he can't take his time, because he promised Al to help him with that Charms essay as well, and later they planned on a few games of Exploding Snap if they weren't too tired.

Septimus was surprised to be sorted into Gryffindor, but he loved sharing a room with Al. In fact, he thought, having your friends near you is the important part, not what house you are actually in.

As Septimus approached the portrait of the Fat Lady on his way back from the library, Rose Weasley came staggering out of the portrait hole, supported by Al, who looked very grave. Rose's face was blotched and tear-stained – she had definitely been crying, perhaps for hours. Albus's lower lip was trembling.

"What's wrong?" asked Septimus, feeling a surge of fear sweep over him, "What happened, Rosie?"

Heavy footsteps of enormous, boot-clad feet were heard behind them, and the next second, Septimus saw Hagrid. To his vast astonishment, Hagrid too was shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and his eyes were red and puffy. He put his arms around Rose's shoulders, which nearly caused her knees to buckle.

"I'll take her from here, Al," he said, "off yeh go ter the dormitory, boys – don't want yeh ter be caught outta bounds –"

"What happened, Hagrid?" asked Septimus, louder this time. A sensation of panic was quickly spreading over him – was it something really bad? He saw Hagrid exchange a quick glance with Al, a glance of understanding, upon which Hagrid dug in his pocket for his enormous spotted handkerchief as though he couldn't bear thinking about whatever it was that had upset him so.

Rose went off with him without saying a word.

… Tears were running down Celena's cheeks, falling straight down into her lap. Severus Snape was looking grim.

"Oh, Severus," she whispered, attempting to wipe her eyes and giving up because more tears sprang up right away. "Oh, that is just too horrible. Just – just like that… it reminds me of the time when You-Know-Who was at large…"

"It was an accident," said Snape, "it happened in the Department of Experimental Spells and Charms – that was a highly unstable device, if they had had any sense at all they would have taken extra security measures –"

"I can't even imagine what it must be like right now for Hermione and the children," said Celena, not taking in a word of what he was saying, "and oh, Molly and Arthur – and Harry and Ginny, and all Ron's brothers – I talked to Fleur this morning, she was barely coherent, couldn't stop crying –"

"You didn't know him that well," her husband handed her a cup of very strong sweet tea.

"Oh, of course we were never as close to Ron and Hermione as we are with Harry and Ginny," nodded Celena, taking a shaky sip, "but all the same, we have known them for such a long time. Remember their wedding, Severus? Remember how radiant Hermione was, how happy we all were? Ron Weasley was a fine man, and they were a wonderful couple. They were meant for each other. Septimus cried himself to sleep last weekend when he was home. He got very friendly with poor Rosie Weasley, you know."

"Ron Weasley also left quite a bit of debt behind him," told Snape, attempting to steer the conversation into venues that wouldn't lead his wife to renewed sobbing, "they bought a house not long ago, counting mainly on his new post at the Ministry, which was supposed to provide the funds – but when this – when this happened, it seemed very doubtful whether Hermione would be able to pay it off. And the Weasleys have never been exactly rich, you know."

"Oh, Severus!" Celena looked at him with bloodshot eyes, "How come you didn't mention this earlier? We could do something for Hermione, we have put aside quite a bit this year, and though I was planning on renovations, this is far more important."

"From what I heard, there will be no need for that," Snape said enigmatically.

"What do you mean?"

"Shortly after Ron was killed, Hermione got a very polite letter from Gringotts, telling her that the loan on their house had been entirely covered. Hermione was flabbergasted, of course. She hurried to Gringotts to set the matters straight, thinking it obviously must have been a mistake. Imagine her surprise when she was told that someone who wished to remain anonymous had paid off her entire debt, which must have been thousands of Galleons."

"Who was that?" asked Celena, intrigued despite the circumstances.

"As I said, he wished to remain anonymous, but Hermione was determined to know. I remember Hermione from her school years. When she makes up her mind about something, not even the Gringotts goblins can resist her. After half an hour and a few exceedingly loud arguments, she already knew the money was deposited in her account by Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy?" Celena looked aghast. "_Draco Malfoy_?"

For a second, she was overpowered by a memory: a young man with sleek blond hair and a pale face, rain trickling down his dark robes, attempting to look cool and undisturbed, but in reality, worried and determined to protect the same woman who now became a widow. And Severus's calm words: "frankly, I believe there is a better chance for Cornelius Fudge to become Minister of Magic again than for Draco Malfoy to get so much as a contempt-free glance from Hermione Granger."

"I still don't see how Hermione would ever have accepted money from Draco Malfoy," said Celena.

"I know it sounds improbable, but she did. I suppose she did it for her children – especially for her son, who is still at home. Being thrown out of their house would have been devastating to deal with, on top of all. But she made it very clear to Malfoy that this is a loan she intends to return as soon as she can."

"Still – we're talking about a house, Severus, not a new broomstick!"

"He can afford it, you know. The Malfoy family has always rolled in gold, and Draco increased the family fortune tenfold in the past ten years."

"Even then, I'll bet Mrs. Malfoy didn't quite approve –"

"I was told his wife went berserk," Severus said with something almost like a smile playing on his lips, "and I doubt it was only about the money."

"Hermione is strong, she will make it," Celena wiped her eyes for the last time and gave a loud sniff, "but all the same, Severus. It's terrible."

They sat in brooding silence for about a minute, each immersed in thought.

"What shall we do about the children, Celena?" Severus finally asked. "Fiona is too smart for her own good, and Anna too beautiful. And Septimus – when I think what it's going to be like when we finally tell him –"

"I think we ought to, Severus," Celena said gently, "before someone else does."

"I… he is so young. What I had done… sometimes I think I don't deserve to have the life I have now – to be married to someone like you, to have children –"

"Nonsense," Celena placed a warm hand on his arm. It pained her to hear him talk like this. "You have always been a wonderful husband and father. And Septimus adores you."

"This is a high tower to fall from," Severus said grimly.

"He will understand," Celena insisted, though a hidden fear crept into her heart when she thought what her son, her noble-hearted, honest and loyal Septimus will think when they finally tell him about his father's past.

… Fiona walked down the twilit grounds to Hagrid's cabin, drawing her cloak tighter around her against the chilly wind. In her hands she was holding a bulging sack. When she reached Hagrid's, she knocked on the door and was answered by a familiar "c'min". She pushed open the door and saw Hagrid sitting at his enormous wooden table. He was not, however, alone. Professor Hawthorn was sitting next to him, clutching one of Hagrid's bucket-sized mugs, which was full of steaming hot tea and (Fiona guessed) a generous shot of firewhisky.

"Ah, Fiona," said Hagrid, "nice ter see yeh. These fer the baby unicorns?"

"Yes, apples – sour green ones, like you asked – say, Hagrid, have you seen Septimus today?"

"He dropped by with Al Potter," said Hagrid, "the boys are slowly coming back ter themselves… terrible thing… I've known Ron Weasley ever since he was a kid like yer brother, Fiona…"

There was a heavy silence, during which Hagrid wiped his eyes and Fiona patted his arm.

"Well, Hagrid, I really must go back to school – I promised to help Vicky with her homework a bit. Victoire, you know – she hasn't been herself ever since this – this happened. See you at Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow, Hagrid. Good evening, Professor Hawthorn."

"Actually, I must be off too, Hagrid," said Jeremy Hawthorn, draining the last of his tea. "We can walk up to the castle together, Miss Snape."

As they walked, Fiona appreciated the spring in Professor Hawthorn's step. With his graceful movements, waves of dark hair and liquid grey eyes, he looked like a poet.

"Interested in magical creatures, are you, Miss Snape?" Professor Hawthorn asked politely – perhaps even too politely, considering that he was her teacher. Fiona knew he was in awe of her father, and most likely at least somewhat intimidated by him.

"I love magical creatures," she said enthusiastically, "whatever I do after school will be connected with them."

"Hagrid seems very knowledgeable," said Professor Hawthorn, "I came by to ask him at which season it would be best to harvest the horn of a bicorn for potion-making, and Hagrid was kind enough to invite me for a cup of tea. Then we talked a bit about what happened to – to Ron Weasley."

"Oh?" Fiona glanced at Professor Hawthorn with new interest, "Did you know Mr. Weasley?"

"We've met. I didn't know him well, but it seems Ronald was a fine man. I expect it must have been a terrible blow for his wife and children. And I see that all the Weasley nephews and nieces are shaken by the tragedy."

"Yes," said Fiona, "and so is my brother Septimus – he's friends with Rose Weasley, you know."

"Yes, yes, of course," nodded Professor Hawthorn. "Septimus is a good boy – very kind – very attentive to others – he is in Gryffindor, though I would have naturally expected him to be –"

"In Slytherin," Fiona concluded for him, "but you don't know Septimus like I do, Professor Hawthorn, and I knew he wouldn't go there. I thought it must be either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, and I tended to lean towards the latter."

For about half a minute, they walked in silence.

"May I ask you a question, Professor Hawthorn?" Fiona surprised him.

"Why, of course, Miss Snape," he replied, looking a little taken aback.

"Were you in Slytherin when you went to school?"

"Actually," he said, "I didn't go to Hogwarts. My family spent a few years in the United States, and I went to New Springs School of Magical Arts.

Well, this isn't a surprise, thought Fiona, shaking her short hair out of her face.

"Do you have an idea why my father chose you as Head of Slytherin?" she asked rather boldly.

"Well," contemplated Professor Hawthorn, "I was rather enthusiastic when Professor Snape first talked about the job – mentoring ambitious, talented, well-connected young people, the sons and daughters of the oldest wizarding families in Britain –"

"And does the job correspond with your expectations, Professor Hawthorn?" Fiona pressed on.

His eyes met hers. For a moment, Fiona's long black eyelashes obscured the dazzling blue stare – so much like her mother's and sister's, but full of determination and without any of Anna's playfulness. A hint of hesitation passed upon Jeremy

Hawthorn's young face.

"Well, to tell you the truth, Miss Snape, when I accepted the post I hadn't quite anticipated that –"

"… That the noble house of Slytherin will turn out to be the biggest nest of vipers, bullies and creeps you have ever seen?" Fiona supplied.

Professor Hawthorn looked at her, temporarily speechless, and opened and closed his mouth several times before he regained control of his voice.

"I wouldn't say it quite so – Miss Snape, those are very strong words to use when talking about the house of your –"

"My father's house, yes," nodded Fiona, "and my sister Anna is there as well. Sure, you will meet many people like my father and sister in Slytherin, who are simply very intelligent, talented and ambitious. But you will also meet the likes of Torbjorn Rowle. I wonder, did you pay attention to his behavior, Professor?"

"I – I must say that I have," Hawthorn said nervously, quite taken aback by this continuous boldness of hers, "and I will confess, Miss Snape, that I'm in fact rather disturbed."

"As you should be," Fiona said fiercely, with a flash of those brilliantly blue eyes, "Professor Hawthorn, please don't think I'm being impertinent, but as a daughter of the man who had been Head of Slytherin for so long, I can tell you that the main part of keeping the house of Slytherin under control lies in isolating people who are a source of trouble. Torbjorn Rowle is nothing without his cronies. Find a way to isolate him, and I guarantee you that most of your troubles with him will be solved."


	7. Hogsmeade observations

"That was bold of you," remarked Lenny, as he and Fiona were getting dressed, preparing to go out. It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term, and it was already getting frosty. The day was promising to be fine, with a pale blue sky and cold, clear air.

"Professor Hawthorn isn't like other teachers," replied Fiona, running a comb through her hair. "He didn't think it's beneath him to take advice from a student. And besides, I had to try and help him. For better or worse, this year there's no one but Professor Hawthorn to take care of the Slytherins, and the more confidence he has, the better for the entire school."

Fiona looked at the mirror with satisfaction. Hogsmeade days were an opportunity to lay aside the usual blacks of the school uniform, and she knew she always looked better in Muggle clothes – today, tight jeans a bright blue turtleneck sweater. She had resigned herself a long time ago to the fact that she will never be like Anna, who promised to soon outshine their mother at the height of her beauty – and Celena Costello used to be one of the most prominent beauties of Beauxbatons Academy in her day. Fiona didn't have the feminine charm and easy grace her mother and Anna so naturally possessed, her features were not as fine, and her hair was the raven black she and Septimus had inherited from their father. She was also too thin and gangly for her own taste. But she was tall and well-built, there was a spring in her step, and her eyes were sapphires under her long black eyelashes.

Fiona and Lenny walked out of the castle, amidst a mass of excited, chattering students. For Lenny, this was the first time to visit Hogsmeade, and he wanted to see everything.

They started at Honeydukes, where Lenny stared rather gloomily at the tottering piles of colorful, succulent, oozing, whizzing and squeaking magical sweets, none of which he was supposed to eat.

"Can't you even taste a Sugar Quill?" Fiona asked him pityingly. "I mean, what can be so bad about them – it's not like they're made of bacon –"

She was already starting to accumulate some knowledge about the customs of kosher and non-kosher foods.

Lenny shook his head mournfully.

"Some wizard food shops have kosher certificates, but not here. I believe it will gradually become more popular, though. I know for a fact that Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans are marketing a new line of flavors for the United States – gefilte fish, matzo balls and kugel…"

After Fiona bought a large package of sweets for Septimus and his first-year friends, who had remained behind in the castle that day, they walked on around Hogsmeade – to Zonko's joke shop and the post office and Gladrag's Wizardwear. Their feet were beginning to feel tired, and Fiona suggested that they find a table at the Three Broomsticks, but the bar was too packed with people to even see Madam Rosmerta behind the counter. Not having much choice, they proceeded to the Hog's Head.

"This place looks dodgy," remarked Lenny, eyeing the dusty tables and the grimy floor.

"Oh come on, Lenny, lighten up a bit and let's have a drink – there must be something here that you can have, how about a Butterbeer?"

"Well…" hesitated Lenny, "if – if they don't pour it into their glass, and I drink it straight from the bottle, then – perhaps –"

"Excellent," said Fiona, and before he could change his mind, she ordered two Butterbeers, which they sat sipping in a distant corner of the pub when a man and a woman walked in.

The woman was looking gaunt and tired; her robes were crinkled, there were dark shadows under her eyes, and her brown hair was tied back in a lopsided ponytail. She was very pale, and looked as though she hadn't slept in days. With a jolt, Fiona realized it was Mrs. Hermione Weasley.

The man who walked in alongside her was tall and blond, with a hairline that was receding slightly. His well-built figure was clad in very elegant, perfectly tailored mouse grey robes. Fiona never saw him in person, but recognized him from press cuttings as Mr. Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy led Hermione to a table and ordered two Firewhiskys, ignoring her faint protests. Only when both of them took a few sips of the fiery drink, Hermione spoke and Fiona perked up her ears to listen.

"Here," she said quietly, pulling a thick leather pouch out of her robes and holding it out for Malfoy. "Go ahead," she urged him when he hesitated, "you don't want to make people stare."

Draco Malfoy reached out and pocketed the pouch, an expression of unwillingness on his face. Fiona heard a faint clinking of metal as he did so. She went unnoticed by Mrs. Weasley – she and Lenny were seated in a shadowy corner, and even if Hermione could see her, Fiona doubted it would make much difference – she looked like she wouldn't care about anything anymore.

"What did you have to sell to get this money?" Fiona heard the quiet, cautious voice of Mr. Malfoy.

"How I got this money isn't supposed to concern you. I said I'll pay you back as soon as I can, and that's exactly what I'm doing." Hermione replied testily.

"I told you there was no need to hurry," said Draco Malfoy, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "For me, this sum is nothing but a trifle – for you, on the other hand…"

"I accepted a loan from you, Malfoy," said Hermione even more quietly and very distinctly, "only to give my children the tiny bit of stability I can give them now," she finished in a hollow voice, "and I still don't understand why you pressed this money on me and why you didn't want me to know it's you," she added.

"I told you. You, your late husband and Harry Potter saved my life once. I do not forget, Hermione."

"Hermione?" despite her grief, Mrs. Weasley's eyes were sarcastic slits, and her voice was dripping with irony. "I don't forget either, Draco. I used to be Granger to you, at the time we saved your life. Granger the Mudblood."

Draco Malfoy winced, but continued in a tone of forced calm.

"People can change. People do change. Nineteen years have passed since that day, and during all that time, I have led a respectable, law-abiding life. I am done with the Dark Arts, and it has been many years since I used the word Mudblood. Don't let a school grudge blind you."

"I owe you," said Hermione, getting up from her chair, "but I intend to make the score even as soon as possible."

"… You know, Lenny, I promised Mum I would stop by and visit," said Fiona after they had finished their drinks and watched Mr. Malfoy and Mrs. Weasley pay for their drinks and leave the bar. "Mum should be home now. Would you like to come along?"

"Sure, why not," Lenny nodded cautiously.

When they reached the Snape family house, Lenny looked impressed by the beautiful old building and the well-planned garden, and even more so by the lavishly designed sitting room, where they found Fiona's mother – to Fiona's pleasant surprise, she was not alone, but accompanied by Harry and Ginny Potter.

"It's such a pleasure to have you here, dears," she said, serving tea, just as Fiona and Lenny entered the room. "Really, Ginny, you ought to stop by even when Harry can't make it. And I wrote to Sep and told him to tell Al we would love to have him over anytime… oh, here you are, Fiona! I was starting to worry you won't be able to make it!"

"Hi, Mum," said Fiona, "hi, Harry, Ginny. Mum, this is Lenny Cohen, a friend of mine."

In her previous five years at school, Fiona had never brought a friend to visit before – nor had she, in fact, mentioned any friends. However, Celena tried not to show her surprise. She smiled graciously at Lenny.

"Lovely to meet you, Lenny," she said, "I'm Celena. I was just about to serve tea, would you like to have a cup?"

"Lenny won't drink anything here, Mum," said Fiona with a small laugh, "he's an Orthodox Jew, you see, and nothing in our kitchen is – ahem – _kosher_."

To her honor, it must be said Celena didn't look remotely abashed.

"Jewish, are you?" she said, "I went to Beauxbatons Academy, you know, and we had quite a few Jewish students there, and they had all sorts of special arrangements made for them, so that they could comfortably eat and live in the castle. How about if I make you some tea from a teabag in a Styrofoam cup? I remember the Jewish girls ate and drank from disposable dishes and cups when we went on tours outside the castle."

"Thank you, Mrs. Snape," said Lenny, "I have some relatives in France whose children will be school age soon. It's nice to know they will be able to go to school without too much trouble."

"We went into the Hog's Head earlier," Fiona announced as everyone sat down to tea.

"I hope you didn't drink anything from their glasses, dear," Celena said with concern, "because you know, issues of kosher food and kitchenware aside," she nodded at Lenny, "it's really unhygienic –"

"We saw Mrs. Weasley there, Mum," said Fiona.

"Hermione?" asked Ginny. Fiona nodded.

"She was with Mr. Malfoy. I think they met so that she could hand him over some money."

Harry, Ginny and Celena exchanged glances.

"I wish we could have given Hermione that money," Ginny said fiercely, "then she wouldn't have to accept favors from Malfoy. Oh, how I hate the thought of her owing him money!"

"I just hope it is really a favor," Harry said darkly, "and not some sinister plan that involves getting Hermione in Malfoy's debt."

"You weren't exactly on friendly terms with Draco Malfoy when you went to school together, were you, Harry?" Fiona asked with keen interest. "And neither was Hermione?"

Harry let out a small, bitter laugh.

"Not on friendly terms? Well, yes, I suppose you could say that, given how Malfoy had tried to use an Unforgivable Curse on me, how he always taunted Ron about his family having no money, and how he called Hermione a Mudblood."

"He doesn't sound like a very nice person, does he?" interjected Lenny. Ginny made a sound which clearly conveyed that she considered Lenny's words a gross understatement.

"Draco Malfoy is a product of his upbringing, you know," said Harry, sounding more placid than his wife.

"Well, _you _were brought up by the Dursleys, those awful Muggles," said Ginny, firing up, "and you didn't turn out anything like them!"

"I don't know how I could have turned out anything like them," said Harry, shrugging, "seeing how busy they have been making me an outcast for sixteen years. Malfoy, though… I expect he had had it hammered into his head how special and important he is, how superior to all those who aren't purebloods from old wizarding families… but who knows? Perhaps he knows better know, though to tell you the truth, I find it hard to believe. But it's also true we don't know much at all about what Malfoy has been up to since we left school – except for multiplying the family fortune, of course. He sure has led a quiet life these past nineteen years."

"Yes," supplied Ginny, "his business. And he married that insufferable Astoria. Two children. The perfect little –"

"Severus told me he has heard that Mrs. Malfoy strongly disapproves of her husband helping Hermione," said Celena, "and to be frank," she added thoughtfully, "I must admit I sort of understand where she is coming from."


	8. Treacherous truth

"'M afraid I can' let yeh off the hook this time, Sep," Hagrid said gloomily to a chastised but still seething Septimus, "if yeh keep pickin' fights with people, yeh'll end up in much more serious trouble, and yeh know I don' want that ter happen ter yeh. This time, yeh'll help Madam Pince sort through old Prophets."

"Oh, please, not Madam Pince!" groaned Septimus, "Hagrid, why can't I work with you again?"

"Can' do that, Sep, sorry," said Hagrid, shaking his enormous shaggy head, "people will start sayin' I'm showin' favoritism."

… When Septimus arrived at the empty library after dinner to do his detention, Madam Pince, the librarian, welcomed him with a gleeful expression, staggering under the weight of an enormous pile of old "Prophets" and some vast black binders.

"You will sort the old newspapers by date," she told the crestfallen boy, "and put them into these binders. If you notice damaged copies, put them in a separate file and I will try to repair them later. You may leave three hours from now."

Septimus looked gloomily at the large clock ticking on the wall behind the librarian's desk. It was eight o'clock in the evening, which meant it will be no earlier than eleven when he is allowed to leave.

With a sigh, he started his tedious, boring work. The copies he began with were dated from some twenty years ago, and the dry yellow papers rustled beneath his fingers. And then, with a jolt of surprise, he saw his father's face, younger than he had ever remembered it, staring back at him from the front page. The headline above the moving, blinking picture of his father, wearing his usual high-collared black robes, read "Severus Snape, newly appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts".

Consumed by curiosity, Septimus began to read. He knew that his father had been Headmaster in the past, for just one year, right after the death of the legendary Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. That was the year when Lord Voldemort met his final downfall. But when he asked for more details about that period of his father's life, for example why his time of Headmastership had been so brief, he was always waved off. Well, now he was finally about to find out more about it. The story promised to be long, continuing on three subsequent pages…

"Hurry up!" snapped Madam Pince. "There is a lot of work to do, and if you don't finish tonight I shall ask your head of house to let me have you here tomorrow!"

There was no choice to be had; casting a furtive look around, Septimus folded the old newpaper and tucked it safely into his robes. The three hours he spent in the library seemed much shorter than he had originally thought, because he kept dwelling on the old crumbling pages that were now resting near his heart – and as soon as he was finished and Madam Pince reluctantly let him go, he immediately dashed to Gryffindor tower to read by the dying fire in the empty common room.

He expected, perhaps, an account of his father's heroic service to the school, or an acknowledgment of his academic achievements, but as soon as he read the first line, the words started swimming before his eyes, and he had to blink several times before re-reading:

_"Professor Snape, who had recently come into the open regarding his long-standing support of the Dark Lord…"_

… Septimus lifted up his face from his hands and fixed a burning, accusing stare on the anguished face of his mother and on his father's unreadable features.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why hide this from us?"

The three of them were sitting in the Headmaster's study. His mother came after he and his father had such a heated confrontation that it caused the portraits lining the office walls to erupt in indignant exclamations.

"We didn't want you to find out like this," Celena said quietly. Her blue eyes were brimming with tears. "We wanted to tell you, we really did, Sep, we just thought you were too young to understand…"

"Oh yeah?" Septimus raised his eyebrows, looking more like his father than ever before, "have you told Fiona and Anna, then?"

"Well… not exactly, Sep. They – they eventually found out on their own, though it happened rather later, and they weren't quite so –"

"Then you weren't really going to tell me." Septimus concluded with grim satisfaction. "You should have, though. You should have known I'm bound to find out."

"Septimus, listen to me," Celena said urgently, "what you found out is but half the truth. It's true that once, your father was tempted into joining You-Know-Who…"

"It's true, then," Septimus was now looking directly at his father, "you were a Death Eater – and not just any Death Eater – from what I understood you were right in You-Know-Who's inner circle. And to think I got myself into so much trouble trying to defend you from people who were telling the truth the whole time…"

Severus Snape said nothing. He felt he had already said too much before, when the argument between himself and his son ended with a few smashed glass cabinets and several of his possessions chucked straight out of the window.

"Septimus," Celena resolutely continued, "please keep in mind that when that article you stumbled upon was published, your father had been in fact one of the secret leaders of the opposition against You-Know-Who. The remorse your father felt, his great personal sacrifices, and the role he eventually played in bringing about the downfall of Lord Voldemort…"

She hadn't yet known her husband during that period of his life, but their many talks about the subject and her responsive, compassionate and loving heart made her feel as though she had lived every moment of it right alongside him.

When a fleeting look exchanged between her and Severus indicated his approval, she ploughed on. She still thought her son was much too young to find out all the details of this story, and her heart ached for both her husband and son, but as it was she knew it was better not to leave anything unsaid. So she spoke of her husband's love for Lily Potter, of his faithful devotion to her memory and how he risked his life countless times, nearly being killed in the last hours of Voldemort's final battle. When she finished speaking, Septimus's eyes were dry but very wide, and he looked at his parents as though he was seeing them both for the first time.

"Did you know all this when you got married?" he shot an unexpected question at his mother.

"Yes," Celena said firmly, "I knew, and it made me admire your father for all he had done and all he had gone through."

"It seems to me that what he had gone through was simply a result of what he had done," Septimus said coolly.

"I was young," Severus finally spoke, "young and foolish and exceedingly ambitious, and I was in Slytherin, where the pressure to join the Dark side was greater than you could ever imagine."

"No, I could never imagine it," Septimus agreed, while his eyes flashed dangerously, "because I could never be in Slytherin."

He got up from his chair and made to leave. He already had his hand on the door handle when his mother's voice called from behind.

"Where do you think you are going, young man? This conversation isn't finished!"

"I'm going to bed," said Septimus, turning back his head to look at her with resolute defiance, completely ignoring his father.

"Septimus Severus, you come right back here and listen to what your father has to say!"

"Right now," Septimus said bitterly, "I wish I were just Septimus."

And without another word, without giving either of his parents the chance to say anything, Septimus dashed out of the office, slamming the door behind him. In the silence, they could hear his receding footsteps rushing down the spiral stone staircase.

With a tired sigh, Severus Snape sank back into his armchair. His wife took his hand and pressed it with both of her own.

"Sep will come around, Severus. He must have some time to think about all this, and he will understand."

Severus shot her the sarcastic look that was so characteristic of him for so long.

"Will he?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "When you first found out about my past, Celena, you were very quick to form an opinion about me – and you were much older than eleven years old."

"You can't deny I started seeing things in a different light pretty quickly, though." Celena said with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Seeing how I married you just a few months later?"

Quite unexpectedly, Celena felt her husband's lips on the back of her hand, and his voice was hoarse with rare and suppressed emotion as he spoke.

"It has been like a dream, these past seventeen years with you. What we have – it's beyond anything I could have hoped for. You, our family, our children. I never thought it would all come to pass. But sometimes, I feel as though my past is haunting me again."

Celena looked at him with surprise and gratitude. Even though she never doubted the strength of her husband's feelings, she knew how difficult it was for him to find a way to express them.

"I've had a pretty great time myself so far, Severus," she said, sitting on the handle of his armchair and running a gentle hand across his cheek.

When people heard about their marriage, many quizzical eyebrows were raised. It could not be denied that on many accounts, they seemed an unlikely pairing. Celena was a dashing, beautiful young woman in her early twenties, with a taste for fine clothes, friendly gatherings, lively music and dancing. Severus was a brooding, gloomy, unsociable bachelor nearing his fortieth birthday, with many bitter, lonely years behind him, and the horrors of the past still weighing upon his shoulders. But as it was, their marriage had turned out to be an exceedingly successful one. Each one of them had precisely what was needed to counter-balance what was missing in the other, and together they raised three fine children.

"I think I will go home early tonight," Severus told his wife, appreciating it was thanks to her that he had a place he could call home, and such a warm, welcoming home it was. He knew he was softened by his years as a husband and father, by his wife's steady love and affection, by the years when he had little hands clinging to him. Much of his impenetrable shell, comprised of bitter sarcasm and denial of any emotion, was gone – and though sometimes, like in the past hour with his son, he felt vulnerable because of it, he couldn't deny how much happier he had become.

"My dear," said Celena, cheering up, "you couldn't have come up with a better idea. I can imagine you must be very tired. We'll have a quiet, lovely evening tonight. I'm making salmon with creamed potatoes for dinner, and we can open a bottle of your favorite wine."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Are we celebrating something?"

"Life," she smiled, "we are celebrating life. That's good enough, don't you think?"


	9. Draco's discoveries

It was a nice plan to spend an evening this way, but it was probably too good to come true, Severus thought to himself ominously as they were startled by a rapt knock on their front door just as they had finished with their salmon and Celena went into the kitchen to take the apple pie out of the oven. Severus strode towards the door to open it, and when he did, he saw Draco Malfoy's tall, dark outline against the starry sky.

"Draco," Severus stepped back, allowing him to pass inside, "This is… a surprise."

At thirty-seven, despite his receding hairline, Draco Malfoy was an impressive man, with his tall, lean, well-defined figure, smooth face and the unstoppable authority of someone who was used to being obeyed. He made a courteous bow to Mrs. Snape who went forward to greet him, noticing, as usual, her loveliness with a jolt of detached jealousy. He clearly didn't just stop by for some social chit-chat, however, so Snape beckoned him towards his study, where he poured two tiny glasses of Firewhisky.

"Well, Draco," he said, pushing one of the glasses towards his former student, "I suppose you didn't come for a piece of apple pie. What can I do for you, then?"

"Have you received the donation I made to the Hogwarts account in Gringotts?" Malfoy asked. He was very prominent on the board of governors, like his father had been in his day, though it must be fairly said Draco did not abuse his authority quite so much.

"Yes, and that was most generous," said Snape, sipping his drink, "but of course, generosity is one of your most defining features these days, Draco."

A muscle twitched slightly in Draco Malfoy's jaw, but his voice was quite calm as he responded:

"What is the point of money if one never uses it? I can afford being generous."

"I've heard Mrs. Malfoy had gone to visit her parents in Ireland," remarked Snape, pretending to sound conversational, though it was obvious Draco understood his intention when his steely grey eyes bore into Snape's unfathomable black ones.

"My wife has far more leisure time now that both Lavinia and Scorpius are at school," he said.

"Yet you are too busy to join her," said Snape, "because undoubtedly, urgent matters require your presence here?"

"As a matter of fact, you are quite right," said Malfoy, and when he leaned closer, Snape noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. "Weasley's death was not an accident."

There was a long silence which grew more pregnant with each passing second.

"Not an accident?" Snape finally repeated.

"Do you know what he had been working on in the Department of Experimental Spells and Charms?" Draco's face was pale and set.

"I have my ideas, but it seems you are far better informed, Draco."

"You know what the Trace is, of course? The charm that lingers around each underage witch and wizard and allows to detect any magic performed in their vicinity?"

"Naturally," nodded Snape.

"Well, as you must know, the Trace doesn't allow the Ministry to find out about who performed the spell, which essentially means that anyone who is not Muggle-born can use magic illegally while in their parents' house. It is assumed that the parents keep their teenage children under control. But you know, of course, how many pure-blooded families consider themselves to be above such petty restrictions."

Snape nodded again, not bothering to reply. His own father, Muggle Tobias Snape, would freak out at any visible sign of magical ability from his son, which meant that even though his mother was a witch and quite lenient about the use of magic during the holidays, as much as even touching his wand in his father's presence was out of the question.

Draco Malfoy cleared his throat and continued to speak.

"Ron Weasley and a number of others were involved in the development of a charm that would trace the underage magic done by a specific wizard, ignoring the magic done by grown up witches and wizards near him. This would eliminate the leniency in many magical families. And as you can imagine, many purebloods would consider this an intrusion upon their privacy. A very offensive intrusion, I must say."

"Are you trying to tell me Ron Weasley was murdered because of a new regulation of underage sorcery?" Snape asked incredulously.

"It's not only that," replied Draco Malfoy, avoiding his eyes. "There are certain – certain wizards who never forgave Harry Potter and his friends. Who were already out there, looking for revenge. They only needed an excuse to strike. Harry Potter was too well protected, of course, but they tried to get to his closest friends. It was Hermione first, many years ago, and now Ron."

There was silence between them again, and this time it was poisonous. Snape was weighing Malfoy's words, wondering how much more this man really knew than he was letting on, and what prompted him to confide.

"Do you suspect your father was involved?" he finally shot out. And then, "What makes you think so?"

Draco faced him, pale and grave and resolute.

"I need to find out more," he told.

"And I take it you won't rest until you are certain?"

"That's right."

"Are you going to tell Ron Weasley's widow?" Snape asked another question, sharp as a lance. Draco flinched.

"Not… not right now. Not before I'm sure."

"And then? If you have proof, what are you going to do?"

"If, as I am guessing, Ron Weasley's death was really a murder, I won't rest until I've found out precisely who did this and how it was carried out, and until the responsible are locked up in Azkaban."

"Even if it is your own father?" Snape now looked and sounded very much like his old self. "What a… sacrifice it would be, Draco."

"I've always said my father became a bit unhinged ever since the Dark Lord's fall," said Draco, "everyone would have been much safer with him out of the way many years ago, when he attempted to get rid of Hermione. But I had no real proof then. I stopped him before he was able to do anything, and he could always have claimed he was just… passing by. And I… I thought I would be able to control him. For my mother. For the family. I always kept an eye on him. I thought I was doing fine … until now."

"But Draco," said Snape, almost in a whisper, "wasn't this what you always longed for? Weasley out of the way?"

The grey eyes bore into the black ones again, unflinching.

"I would never do harm to Ron Weasley on purpose," said Draco, "never. I may be many things, but I am not a murderer."

"No," said Snape, as the shadow of Albus Dumbledore passed between them once more, "I don't think you are, Draco."

"I would never want her to suffer," Draco said, so quietly it was barely possible to hear him.

Snape looked at him. He thought he knew what was happening in Draco Malfoy's soul better than his former student could imagine. He, Severus Snape, was not a murderer either, but hadn't he once hoped Voldemort would murder James Potter and spare Lily's life, so that she could live on, shattered, heartbroken, in the need of comfort only he, her oldest friend, could provide?

"You are the only person who knows what my feelings for Hermione had always been," continued Malfoy, "I knew I my chances with her were just about nonexistent. So I did what was expected of me. I married the first respectable, pure-blood woman who came across my way, and you know what a disaster my marriage to Astoria had been. Now it looks like Astoria will finally consent to break this farce. But when it comes to Hermione, I doubt it will change anything. I'm helping her not because I dare to hope, but because of an old debt, and because if my suspicions are correct, in a way I feel responsible for the role my father played in tearing her life apart. I… I know that if I'm right, I will have to tell her, and she will hate me for it. But I must do it. I must know the truth, and I must let it be known. For once, I must."

Draco Malfoy shook his blonde head, pushing hope as far away from him as possible, but Snape thought he saw a trace of longing in those pale grey unreadable eyes. Once more his thoughts wandered to Lily and all that happened such a long time ago. If she had lived, and if she had allowed him to merely be by her side, wouldn't he seize the opportunity, wouldn't he cherish any crumble of affection, however lukewarm it might be compared to the love she felt towards James Potter? Looking back through many years of pain, and later through many years of peaceful family life with a wife he deeply loved, Severus felt the remnants of old passion stir feebly, burning his throat and clouding his eyes. When the haze was gone and he was able to see Draco Malfoy again, he thought his ex-student looked younger and older at the same time.


	10. Herschel Holmes

To the vast annoyance of Professor Snape, Fiona expressed a great, and in his opinion entirely inappropriate, interest in the particulars of Mr. Malfoy's visit when her mother happened to mention it, and managed to wheedle out of her father almost all the details of their conversation, except the parts that personally related to Hermione Weasley. He shouldn't be surprised, Severus thought exasperatedly as the expression on his daughter's face became triumphant. After all, Fiona had inherited his talent for manipulation and getting information out of reluctant people.

"… It all comes down to Slytherin," Fiona said, pulling on Lenny's History of Magic essay to get his attention. They were sitting in the library and consequently talking in hushed tones. Fiona had accomplished very little of her work so far.

"No, it doesn't," retorted Lenny, pulling back his essay. "Sure, the Founders period was fascinating, but I must say the giant wars of the sixteenth century…"

"Not _Salazar_ Slytherin, you goof," hissed Fiona, realizing he was pulling her leg, "think of all those old, pure-blood families who have always rubbed shoulders together, and whose kids are in Slytherin. The Malfoys, Notts, Averys, Rowles… what if Mr. Malfoy's father had dropped to his grandchildren some hint of what he was about to do, if he really was involved in Mr. Weasley's death in some way? Anna said they have always been close to their grandfather, especially Lavinia, and she can sure be smooth when she thinks she can get some benefit or important information out of it…"

"I don't think so," Lenny shook his head, "whatever you say, they are just kids. What is the chance they might know something?"

"We don't know a hundredth of the sinister things that are going on in the Slytherin common room," Fiona said darkly, "oh, how I would love to catch Torbjorn Rowle doing or saying something nasty, so that I could shove it under Anna's nose."

"You really want to make it end between them, don't you?" asked Lenny.

"Yes," Fiona said hotly, "Anna is fair, and her heart is in the right place. As soon as she understands what a scumbag Rowle is, she isn't going to want to see him anymore, I know it. If only I could catch him at something…"

"Here's an idea," Lenny smirked, "bribe his friends."

Fiona snorted. "Right. My allowance will soon be raised to a whole Galleon a week, who could stand the prospect of such riches? Seriously, though, I wish I could tail him," she frowned, "I really don't see much of him, you know – not that I want to –"

"Tail him?" repeated Lenny, "Well, why didn't you say so?"

"Why, are you going to volunteer?" Fiona grinned wickedly, "Because if you do, the Slytherin common room is down in the dungeons and I'm sure you could persuade some first-year to give you the password. Hey, I'll bet you'd last five whole minutes before someone kicks you out."

"Not me, silly," retorted Lenny, "Herschel!" he called.

With a loud crack, Herschel, the Cohen family house elf, materialized in front of them. An old tablecloth was wrapped around his body, serving as a bizarre combination of toga and apron. A round pot holder was sitting on his head after the fashion of a yarmulke, and he had long curly side locks. He was the queerest house elf Fiona had ever seen.

"Master Leonard called?" Herschel asked in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

"Yes," said Lenny, "say, Herschel, does cooking for me keep you very busy around here?"

"Why is Master Leonard asking?" Herschel asked with undisguised curiosity.

"Herschel had lived in a Jewish family all his life," Lenny told Fiona, rolling his eyes, "I suppose it's just very typical for us Jews to reply to a question with another one, and house elves pick up the family habits. Anyway, Herschel," he turned back to the house elf, "I have something else for you to do, apart from cooking."

"Herschel misses cleaning, too," said the elf wistfully, "and there's not much laundry and ironing to do for Master Leonard alone…"

"No, no, this has nothing to do with washing or cleaning," Lenny hurried to say. The elf's pointed ears drooped in disappointment. "Herschel, do you know a student in the school named Torbjorn Rowle?"

Herschel's big, orb-like eyes widened in surprise, and he hesitated a merest second before replying.

"Herschel has heard the other house elves speak about the boy," he said in a hushed whisper, "Herschel knows that the boy's father was a bad Dark wizard, and it looks like the apple didn't fall very far from the tree. Master is talking about that tall blonde boy from Slytherin, right?"

"Yes, him," said Lenny, "big, blonde, only needs a horned helm to look quite like a Viking. Anyway, Herschel, we need you to keep an eye on him for us. It shouldn't be too difficult for you, you can always pretend you are cleaning the fireplace in the Slytherin common room or something. Or even better, his dormitory. See if he says or does anything suspicious, and as soon as you notice anything, report to me, alright? Spend most of your time on tailing Rowle, Herschel. I can survive without matzo balls soup for a while."

"What a noble sacrifice, Lenny," smirked Fiona. He ignored her.

"Herschel will do it, Master Leonard," said the elf with a deep bow, "Herschel will try to find out the truth about that Rowle boy."

And with another crack, the elf Disapparated.

"Good thinking, Lenny," Fiona said approvingly.

"Simple. Elegant. Very little effort on our part," said Lenny, looking very pleased with himself, "as a matter of fact, I will be very surprised if we are the first to think of such an easy and efficient method to keep an eye on suspicious people."

… Fiona was eager to do something that Lenny wasn't quite sure about: she decided to share their plan, though admittedly without going into details, with Professor Hawthorn. Professor Hawthorn was looking paler and more sleep-deprived with every day that went by. Obviously, the strain of keeping an eye on the Slytherins was beginning to wear him out. Fiona couldn't think of a good opportunity to talk to him in private, so eventually she called him to their desk during a Potions lesson, while everybody was busy with their solutions, under the pretext of having him take a look at her Draught of Living Death.

"We found a way to keep an eye on Rowle, Professor," she whispered as Hawthorn bent over her cauldron. Evidently surprised, he tried to hide his smile in the corners of his mouth.

"Well done, Miss Snape," he whispered back, "I confess I have tried to put him in his place, but it's proving to be more difficult than I thought to catch him at… at what I have reason to think he might be doing. I have no proof, you see. What I need is to charge him with something specific. If I could only have a reason to get him off his Prefect duties… your potion looks perfectly fine for a mid-stage, Miss Snape!" he added loudly, stepping away from her desk.

"… It just makes me so angry," Septimus said fiercely, blotching his Herbology homework, "if it isn't enough that they kept me in the dark about this all my life, Mum won't even admit my father did anything seriously wrong. The way she talks, he was a misunderstood hero."

"I understand, Sep, but I don't think you should believe all the newspapers might say, either," said Al, "listen, why don't you find a chance to ask my Dad about it? I think you could do it sometime over the holidays. Dad never went into details, but he always says he couldn't have defeated You-Know-Who without Professor Snape's help. Surely that counts for something, Sep. I mean, my Dad was there, fighting him, he isn't some outdated Prophet copy…"

"You think so?" Septimus asked hesitantly, wanting and not wanting to hope. "But am I going to see you all during Christmas break?"

"Oh, don't you know?" Al looked at him, surprised, "We are all going to spend Christmas here with you before going away for the break. James and I are staying and Mum and Dad are bringing Lily over."

"Right," Septimus said gloomily, "how could I forget, of course with Dad as Headmaster we are now going to spend every Christmas here."

"It's going to be fun," said Al, obviously trying to perk him up, "we are all going to be together. And I'm sure your Mum won't give up on inviting guests. I'm sure she'll invite Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur. And Aunt Hermione… listen, Sep, we must think of a way to distract Rose somehow. It's – it's really horrible, what happened to Uncle Ron. But Rosie – it looks like she will never go on."

Septimus nodded solemnly. He had been worried about Rose lately, too.

"Perhaps she simply needs more time," he said.

"I have it all planned out," said Al, "over the break, both of you – you and Rose – must come over to our place. It will be a blast, and it's near the Burrow, we can walk over there – you have never been there, have you, Sep? You must, it's a terrific old place, it will be great."

"Yes," said Septimus, cheering up, "it will be."


	11. A Hogwarts Christmas

"Fiona, I can't believe you are actually going to come down for Christmas dinner dressed like this!" squealed Victoire, who was gradually recovering from the shock of losing her uncle and becoming her usual giggly self. She was already dressed in very frilly and rather low-cut dress robes of bubblegum pink, with a matching pink ribbon in her silvery-blonde hair, which she had curled for the occasion. It fell in shiny ringlets onto her white shoulders and cascaded down her back as she moved.

Other than Fiona and Victoire, the dormitory of the sixth-year Ravenclaw girls was empty. Rebecca, Susan and Emma had all gone home for the holidays. Victoire was staying behind for Christmas dinner because her parents, Bill and Fleur Weasley, were invited by Mrs. Snape, her mother's all-time best friend. She was giddy with excitement because her boyfriend, Ted Lupin, was coming over too, and they haven't seen each other much since the start of term, apart from a couple of Hogsmeade visits. Victoire already drove Fiona mad earlier that day by endless inquiries regarding whether her dress robes really look fitting for the occasion, and Fiona decided to pay her back in the same manner.

"How do I look?" she asked, smiling mischievously.

She couldn't blame Victoire for not finding the right words straight away. Even though Christmas was definitely a time to shed the school uniform, she doubted whether the castle walls had ever seen an appearance such as she had put on now. She was wearing a black leather miniskirt, a tight top of black satin, and knee high, monstrous platform boots of black dragonskin, with a matching jacket. A generous touch of black eyeliner accentuated her sparkling blue eyes, and her lipstick was purple to boot. Muggles would probably have called her appearance "Gothic", and she wouldn't have looked out of place at a rock concert.

"Your parents are going to drop dead when they see you," Victoire finally said, giggling, "and Jeremy will be very surprised, considering what a good girl you always appear to be in his classes." She added after a pause.

Fiona scowled.

"If we both mean the same person," she said, "I normally call him Professor Hawthorn."

"_Gorgeous_ Professor Hawthorn," amended Victoire, sighing, "Honestly, it's so unfair they got someone so handsome to teach Potions right after I quit the stupid subject. It would have been worth to carry on just for…"

"For the purely aesthetical pleasure," offered Fiona. Victoire smirked.

"Fiona, only a girl who has never had a boyfriend could miss something like that."

"We ought to be going downstairs," said Fiona, putting a stop to the conversation. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her dating history with Victoire.

As she had predicted, her appearance extracted quite a few stunned looks from fellow students who were staying over for Christmas – not to mention the teachers. With satisfaction, Fiona noted an expression of deepest shock on Anna's pretty face as she strutted past her. Anna was looking beautiful as usual in her robes of floating sky-blue silk and a gold headband. With a further lift to her spirits, Fiona noticed that Torbjorn Rowle was gone for the holidays, and the place by Anna's side was occupied instead by Lennox McKinnon, the Gryffindor Seeker, in the direction of whom James was casting dirty looks.

Fiona's mother, who slipped behind her unnoticed, had her elbow in a very tight grip.

"You look like a Muggle!" Mrs. Snape said in a scandalized whisper, "What have you been thinking, it's your father's first Christmas as Headmaster, why do you always have to do something ridiculous?"

But Fiona just looked straight ahead of her, put a defiant smirk on her face and shook her short black hair out of her eyes. It's a pity Jews don't attend Christmas parties, she thought. Lenny would have found this highly amusing.

After a lot of good food and cracker-pulling, the atmosphere eased up quite a bit, though the murderous look in her father's eyes unmistakably told Fiona she will be in very serious trouble once she comes home. For now, however, she decided to just ignore it and enjoy the moment. The dancing has opened, and her parents were already circling the dance floor in a waltz, her mother's graceful movements making up for her father's lack of expertise. Anna was dancing with Lennox McKinnon, and James Potter was very uncharacteristically sulking in a corner.

Fiona threw a furtive look at Jeremy Hawthorn, who was standing alone near the punch bowl, his arms crossed. It was so typical of Victoire to say she would have carried on with Potions just because the teacher has a perfect smile, a mop of wavy dark brown hair and those liquid grey eyes. Poor Jeremy, she mused. No, she corrected herself, poor Professor Hawthorn. He may be talented, but he does not have the authority required to deal with being the Head of Slytherin. Without much thinking, she felt her legs carrying her over to him in confident strides. Surely an innocent liberty such a dance on Christmas Eve won't be considered excessive, even by her father?

"Don't you dance, Professor Hawthorn?" she asked. For a second, he looked startled, but then got up and graciously offered her his hand.

"I will if you honor me, Miss Snape."

As they spun around, a mischievous gleam was ignited in Hawthorn's grey eyes.

"In New Springs," he told her, "one of our Professors once showed up on a Halloween night bare-chested, wearing leather pants and covered with tattoos."

"Oh?" Fiona raised an eyebrow, "Fake tattoos, I trust it?"

"That is precisely the point – he used some sort of charm, and they were supposed to come off after twenty-four hours… but they did not. He confessed that to us as a warning – we were in our final year, and he told us we should never mess with poorly studied branches of magic, even after we get our N.E.. He eventually had to make a trip to a Magical hospital in another state, where, as I heard, he spent most of the summer. I don't know what became of his tattoos, but on the few occasions I have encountered him after we graduated, I always saw him wearing high-collared robes."

Fiona burst out laughing.

"I see that they taught you with a more liberal attitude in New Springs, Professor," she said with an evil grin.

… In the meantime, a man and a boy walked out of the Great Hall to the frosty, chilly night outside. They walked slowly across the grounds, engrossed in their conversation, the freshly fallen snow crunching under their feet and the moonlight streaming down on them from the clear sky.

"Whatever you say, Uncle Harry," said Septimus, "it doesn't change the fact that my parents have been lying to me since the day I was born."

"Listen, Sep," Harry said firmly, "I know how you feel."

"Do you?" Septimus's black eyes sought Harry's green ones, his expression sharp, "Do you know what it's like, to admire your Dad, to see him as your – your hero, only to find out something that will make it impossible to ever look at him the same way?"

"Yes," Harry said earnestly, "I do."

He wasn't going to elaborate so as not to send the boy's mind into further confusion, but he thought, of course, of the scene he had seen in the Pensieve all those years ago, of his father taunting and torturing Septimus's – and even though he believed it would probably be for the best if Sep never finds out those particular details, he knew what the boy was going through and how painful the downfall of one's father image in one's eyes will always be. Boys tend to glorify their fathers, and the pedestals we erect, he mused, are almost always too high. That's why he always tried to appear as a real person to James and Al, a man with limits and faults. He wanted his sons to know and respect him the way he is – not some far-fetched ideal.

"I just don't understand," Septimus went on gloomily, "how my Dad could ever have been in league with You-Know-Who."

For a few seconds, Harry was silent. The complexity of Professor Snape's character became striking to him once he found it out. He learned to come to terms with it and respect it. He wasn't sure, however, whether he would not have found it all too confusing had he been eleven years old.

"Listen, I was the one who finished off You-Know-Who in the end. You know that, right?" Harry finally offered.

Septimus nodded.

"Well, then, trust me when I tell you I could never have done that without your father's help. He was a hero, Sep. A real hero. When I look back, I realize we were just kids, barely of age. He watched out for us, he kept us safe, he pulled strings nobody but him could have pulled. In my eyes, he had completely redeemed himself. If I felt any differently, I could not have been friendly with him. I wouldn't ask him to be the best man at my wedding. And I certainly would not have named my son after him."

"Al. Albus Severus," Septimus said slowly, thoughtfully, "yes, I see, but… don't get me wrong, Uncle Harry, it's not that I don't believe you, but I simply need to know the whole story. With as many details as possible. If I don't, how will I understand?"

Harry sighed and grinned at the same time. It felt strange. He saw so much of himself in this skinny, black-haired boy. He, too, couldn't rest until he knew the truth.

"You already know many parts of the story, of course," he said, "but there are some details I must fill you in on, so that all the pieces of the puzzle will fall together. Did anyone ever tell you that your father and my mother used to be best friends?"

Septimus shook his head, looking surprised.

"That must have been long before I was born, right?"

"It will take me all night just to get started," warned Harry.

"It doesn't matter," said Septimus, "start now, Uncle Harry, and tell me what you can whenever you can. I need to know. And somehow, I… I don't think my parents will tell me everything. Even now."

"Alright then," said Harry, preparing to travel back in time as his memories started to unravel, "I will begin, then, with a day when two boys, one with red hair and freckles, the other wearing glasses and with a scar on his forehead, rode the Hogwarts Express for the very first time…"

It was painful to recount his school years, because Ron was there in every memory – from the moment they met on the train, and until the day not too long ago when they stood waving their children off to school on platform Nine and Three-Quarters. And now he was gone. But he knew he had to tell. For the sake of Septimus, and for the man whom he had once considered among his greatest enemies, the man who became a valued friend and mentor in later years. The man who taught him a whole new meaning to loyalty, bravery and love – Severus Snape.


	12. A widow's Christmas

Hermione Weasley was sitting alone in the kitchen of the new house she and her husband had bought together last summer. Nothing in her humble surroundings betrayed a hint of the Christmas festivities that were being celebrated so lavishly at the moment by wizards and Muggles alike. There was no Christmas tree with twinkling lights and gifts piling underneath it, no music playing on the WWN, no holiday foods sending their tantalizing aroma throughout the house. Hermione was slumped over a small, hastily wiped kitchen table, picking listlessly through a bowl of wilted salad.

Hermione declined all the invitations she got for Christmas. She could have gone to Hogwarts, to celebrate with Harry and Ginny, or to her parents' house, or to the Burrow, answering Molly's pressing pleas to come. But it would have been too painful, going to any of those places, because they held too many of the memories she shared with Ron – especially Hogwarts, where their story first began…

She let her head sink onto her arms. Only a few short months ago, she and Ron had stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, waving off their older daughter, Rose, who was about to start her first year at Hogwarts. They had anticipated a Christmas reunion together as a family, and instead, their family was torn apart, their grieving children were spending Christmas with their equally grieving grandparents and uncles – and she was here, alone.

She was about to succumb to tears, when a knock on the door reminded her that Malfoy was going to stop by with some documents regarding ownership on the house. Christmas Eve was a peculiar time for business, that was true, but then again, Draco Malfoy had no excess of spare time these days…

Hermione got up from the kitchen chair, tightened the belt of her oldest, shabbiest long bathrobe – she couldn't be bothered changing into something more appropriate – and pushed her bushy hair away from her red and puffy eyes. She blew her nose before she opened.

"Here is the investment plan," Draco Malfoy placed a thick brown envelope on the kitchen table after she reluctantly invited him to come in, "the compensation you got from the Ministry isn't very large, but if you follow the instructions I left you, the sum should double in a year."

"Thank you," Hermione nodded stiffly. Despite being famous for her intelligence, she was never good with finances. For Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, getting rich was as natural as breathing. "I appreciate you taking the time."

"It's nothing," Draco Malfoy waved a dismissive hand, "only took me twenty minutes to draft it. Now, here is something to help you and the children until the profits start rolling in," he drew his hand into the briefcase he was holding, and pulled out a fat leather pouch. Hermione heard the clinking of metal and flushed, shaking her head and biting her lower lip.

"No, please," she said, "put that away. I cannot take any more money from you, especially," she paused, "especially now that –"

"That what?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"That you are about to lose half of all your assets," Hermione finished, almost breathless with embarrassment. "I've heard that your wife had filed for divorce. I'm sorry."

"Ah," he said softly, "don't worry about that. Even if Astoria ends up with two thirds of everything I own and I never earn another Knut in my life, I will still be left with more money I can ever spend." He tried to give a reassuring smile, which instead came out distinctly crooked.

"You sound awfully light-headed about this," frowned Hermione. After the shock and horror of losing her husband, Draco Malfoy's reaction to the crumbling of his marriage seemed almost sacrilegious.

"It was inevitable," he shrugged, "no, I'm not complaining, I entered this marriage knowing there was little to hold Astoria and me together. I had hoped something would develop over the years, but as it turned out, now that both children are at school and the home is empty, there isn't much to stop her from leaving."

"Do you regret your marriage?" Hermione blurted out.

"Regret?" Malfoy cocked an eyebrow. "No, not really. I don't think I could have done any better at the time. I did my best, but sometimes – sometimes our best just isn't enough."

It's true, Draco Malfoy thought defensively under Hermione's skeptical stare. It's not like he hadn't tried to be a good husband to Astoria. He was always polite, courteous even. Generous with his time and money. He gave her freedom to do whatever she liked, provided it didn't harm the family's interests, he took an active part in raising the children. Never, in all his years of marriage, he had an affair, or allowed himself to get into a compromising situation with any of the attractive women who constantly surrounded him by nature of his business. He had even carefully followed a routine of having at least half an hour of adult conversation with his wife every day, which wasn't supposed to touch on the issues of childcare or household duties. It wasn't an easy task, with him being always so busy.

But whatever he did, there was no escaping the emotional detachment between them, a detachment that had sprung up in the very first months of their life together, and was the inevitable consequence of the lack of love in their marriage.

He had tried, of course. Love was bound to come eventually, he told himself as he lifted the veil off the beautiful face of eighteen-year-old Astoria Lynn Greengrass. They had so much in common, after all. Both were young, good-looking, well-bred, and came from old pure-blood families. They had been in the same social circle all their lives. True, the bride's dowry wasn't large, but what dowry wouldn't be dwarfed by the Malfoy fortune, anyway? Their marriage was viewed by both families as a most desirable union, and everyone around them had predicted they would have a glorious future together. And so things were – at least outwardly, while inside, both felt with every passing year that the farce of their marriage was becoming too much to bear.

"How are your children taking this?" asked Hermione.

"Lavinia wasn't even surprised," told Draco, "said she only wonders why it didn't happen earlier. Can't say it went down well with me – it sounded too cynical for a fourteen-year-old. And Scorpius… this is all very confusing for him. Unlike his sister, he never guessed something might not be fine between his mother and me. But I do hope it will be fine. They are spending the first half of Christmas holidays at Malfoy Manor, and the second in Ireland with their mother. That's an arrangement we intend to keep up on all holidays and summer vacations. But most of their time is now spent in school anyway."

"What about your house?"

"I'm selling the place," said Draco, sounding happy for the first time, "I want to buy something less grand, a home just for me. A place without a house elf polishing the five-hundred-year-old silver chandeliers and beating the gong when dinner is served."

"Looks like you have it all thought out," remarked Hermione. She wished she could say the same thing about herself.

"Listen," he said, "I know you probably aren't in the mood, but it's Christmas Eve, even though one could never guess it by looking at your place," he took a swift glance around, noticing the dilapidated pile of two-days-old dirty dishes in the sink. "How about a drink? I have champagne, I have rum, I have Firewhisky…"

Saying this, Malfoy opened his briefcase, and to Hermione's surprise, instead of neatly stacked official documents, it contained a row of invitingly twinkling glass bottles.

"I just stopped here on my way to Nott's," he explained, somewhat embarrassed, "the guys and I are having a – a little –"

"Bachelor party?" supplied Hermione. She couldn't help but feel amused.

"Just a few quiet drinks in male company," said Draco, "a pleasure I have not indulged in for the past fifteen years. How about that drink, then? I won't trespass upon your hospitality much longer, I promise."

Hermione refused anything stronger than Butterbeer, and they ended up having a cup of the hot foamy drink apiece. It felt strangely comforting, to be sitting like this at her kitchen table with her school arch-enemy.

Hermione looked up from her mug, and pierced Draco with a calculating look.

"Don't get me wrong, Draco," she spoke slowly, carefully choosing her words, "but you are the last person I would have expected to help me and the children at a time like this. Not that I'm not grateful," she hastened to add, "but given our personal history…"

He looked down, and she saw the shadow of a schoolboy who wept in the Hogwarts bathrooms, defeated by the monstrosity of a mission he did not seem capable of accomplishing.

"I know it can be next to impossible to undo mistakes we made early in life, Hermione," he said, "but keep in mind that for the past twenty years, I have been trying to do just that."

A storm raged in his heart as he left Hermione's house and walked down the streets of the Muggle town, looking for a safe, secluded spot where he could Disapparate. He did not share any of his suspicions with her yet – he couldn't bear to inflict further pain and confusion upon her while things were still uncertain, and he feared her reaction when she finally finds out that the man who gave her a helping hand is the son of the one who was the reason why she needed it in the first place.


	13. Justice

On the third day of Christmas holidays, Celena woke up to the sound of two angry voices which clearly belonged to her daughters and issued from Anna's room. Severus was already awake and obviously downstairs. Throwing a robe over her nightgown, she hurried off to find out what might possibly be causing Fiona and Anna to shout so loudly so early in the morning.

"You've got some nerve, Fiona!" she heard Anna's voice, which was high-pitched with indignation, through the closed door. "How dare you come to my room to try and tell me that – that –"

Without bothering to knock, Celena banged the door open and found her two daughters glaring at each other with expressions of utmost contempt. While Fiona looked merely annoyed, Anna was livid. Her blue eyes sparkled with angry tears, her chestnut locks tumbled in disarray upon her shoulders and her heaving chest.

"What's going on here, girls?" Celena demanded. "What is the meaning of this racket?"

"Ask her!" Anna yelled, pointing at her sister, who crossed her arms. "Just because I was always more popular, just because I have more to my life than books – confess it, Fiona, you are just jealous, you have always been, that's why you can't admit I'm good enough for my house Quidditch team!"

"I don't think you aren't good enough for your Quidditch team!" Fiona retorted, "I never said that. As a matter of fact, Anna, I think you're a really good Quidditch player – I'm just saying Rowle doesn't care one bit how well you play, he would have let you on the team even if you couldn't tell a Snitch from a Quaffle!"

"Right," Anna's eyes were slits of blue fire, "I knew you would somehow drag my boyfriend into this. For some reason, you have always had something against Torbjorn – unless you fancied him for yourself, of course, in which case you'd sooner get on your broomstick to the moon," she finished maliciously.

Fiona let out an unpleasant, derisive laugh.

"Me, fancy Torbjorn Rowle? You're delusional, Anna. I wouldn't go near him with a twenty-foot pole – and neither should you!"

"Enough!" shouted Celena, coming between them. "Enough! I won't have rows in this house before the crack of dawn. Anna, stay in your room until breakfast is ready. Fiona, come with me."

She beckoned imperiously, and Fiona followed her mother, still seething. Anna flopped down on her bed, crossed her arms and legs and determinedly looked away.

Once they were in Fiona's room, she rounded on her mother.

"You know I'm right, Mum, you know what a nasty piece of a lying, evil, foul bastard –"

"Yes, yes," Celena said exasperatedly, "I don't think you, your father or I differ much in what we think about Torbjorn Rowle, but Anna is fourteen years old, and all she sees is a handsome, popular Quidditch captain. Your father and I have discussed this many times, and we came to the conclusion that if we prohibit Anna from seeing him, it will only cause her to become more infatuated, while if we let things take their natural course, there's every chance this will end as quickly as any typical teenage romance."

"Yes, but until it ends," said Fiona, "have you thought of the damage he can cause Anna?"

Celena paled.

"You don't mean to tell me you think that he – that they –"

"Oh, I don't think they'll sleep together in the near future," Fiona waved her mother off matter-of-factly, "not that Rowle is too scrupulous about such things, of course, I know that for a fact."

"How do you know?" Celena asked quickly.

"Come on, Mum, I've shared a room with Victoire for the past five and a half years, I know everything that's going on at Hogwarts whether I want to or not," said Fiona, "and I tell you Rowle is a bad job."

"You don't need to convince me," Celena paused, "but if you manage to show it to Anna…"

"I'm working on it, Mum," said Fiona, "I'm working on it."

It was true; Fiona Snape didn't forget to concern herself over the well-being of her sister, even though she had enough on her plate to be getting on with. The amount of homework they got for the holidays was positively staggering, but while she was supposed to concentrate on non-verbal spells, antidotes and animal Transfiguration, she couldn't banish from her thoughts a pair of eyes that were like smoke made into liquid, a boyish smile and a mop of dark brown hair, that appeared beneath her eyelids every time she closed her eyes.

She frowned, annoyed with herself. Falling for a teacher, could you think of anything more cliché? Victoire would be proud of her if she knew. But of course, she would rather cut her tongue out than tell anyone.

While they were having breakfast, Althea tapped on the window, and two bright spots appeared on Fiona's cheeks as she went to retrieve the letter.

"Who is it from, dear?" asked Celena, watching her daughter intently. Anna, still looking cross and sullen, appeared to be immersed in her plate, and Severus was hiding behind a fresh copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Lenny," Fiona said, trying to sound natural, "he – he says he's having a good holiday… I mean, a good vacation, they aren't really celebrating Christmas, you know."

In reality, the note Althea brought to her was written in neat, firm, masculine hand, and said the following:

_"Miss Snape,_

_Following your advice, I searched all the Slytherin dormitories but found nothing unusual, apart from a startling number of books on Herbology on Torbjorn Rowle's bedside table. Do you happen to have any ideas on why he might be interested in growing mandrakes?_

_Yours truly,_

_J.H."_

Fiona stopped herself from inhaling the musky scent of the folded note, and forced herself to think. Rowle wasn't stupid, she had to give him that, but a model student he was not – and Fiona doubted he had ever read a book for pleasure. What could have caused this sudden interest of his?

… When Mrs. Greengrass opened the door, she didn't even bother to greet Draco Malfoy. She simply turned her back on him and marched inside, allowing him to follow her along the corridors of the house, marked by centuries of fashionable finery and expensive decorations, but without the lavish extravagance that was so typical of rich pure-blood families. Draco was not surprised by this less-than-warm welcome. He knew his mother-in-law had no reason to be civil to him anymore.

He found Astoria in the library, sitting lazily in one of the great carved armchairs and sipping a glass of wine. She eyed him from under those fabulous thick dark eyelashes of hers, and tightened the belt of the silk robe that clung softly to the contours of her body. Even now, when it was without a doubt all over between them, Draco couldn't deny she was one of the most beautiful and seductive women he ever knew.

"Where are the children?" he asked.

"Already in bed," she replied, pushing her glass aside.

"I hope I find you well."

"There is no need for common courtesies, Draco. I trust that only unfinished business could have brought you here. You always hated my parents."

Out of his robes, Draco pulled an envelope, not unlike the one he had given Hermione not long ago.

"Here is the deal, Astoria," he said matter-of-factly, "it's all written down. You get the house, half of the savings from our account in Gringotts, and a sum of money equal to half of my shares in the company. I think you will find this more than fair."

She stared at him blankly, her face impassive.

"Is there anything else you want?" he asked. "To make sure there are no offenses?"

"Yes," said Astoria, "my youth. My innocence. My husband."

"You weren't so keen to have me when you left," he retorted. Her eyelashes quivered, cast down.

"I never had you," she said, "not really. There was always something standing between us, a barrier I could never break through. Was there someone else? Come, Draco, it won't do you any harm to confess now."

Draco was starting to feel annoyed. It was so like Astoria to stick to an uncomfortable subject in a most persistent way when there was something she was determined to know. For many years, she had suspected him of being unfaithful to her, even though she never had any proof whatsoever – nor could she, when no act of infidelity had ever really taken place. Matters of the heart, however, were different.

"Stop it, Tory," he said, so tired of all those years he was tempted to just close his eyes and sleep then and there. "We had carried on a blank existence together for fifteen years. And as much as we tried, quite miserable years they were, too. It's time to let go."

Astoria's eyes flashed, and her head jerked involuntarily, as though he had slapped her. She always hated it when he used that patronizing tone with her, especially now that their marriage had fallen apart.

"I kept my end of the bargain, Draco," she said bitterly, "but you didn't keep yours."

He sighed. He should have known it was futile to hope this would be quick and painless.

"We both knew what we were getting into," he said, "a wealthy, well-planned union of two respectable pure-blood families. Back then, both of us thought it should be enough to ensure lifelong happiness."

"Enough?" Astoria cried out in indignation. "What seventeen-year-old girl would say it should be enough? I wanted you, and I would have you on any terms. But you, I don't know what you are made of, Draco Malfoy. You were always so cold, so calculating, except," an evil flame danced in her dark eyes, "for the times we were in bed."

It was true. Her beauty had always evoked in him the lust that led to the rare blissful moments of their marriage, when he lost himself in her silky dark hair, in the scent of her smooth, perfect skin. But that, too, was not enough to cover up the emptiness. She was like Firewhisky, and when the bottle was drained, he was left with tiredness and headache.

"I had hoped you would truly be mine one day," Astoria said very quietly, "I had always hoped."

For once, she had succumbed, and a single tear rolled, sparkling, down her pale smooth cheek. Very soon, however, she regained her composure.

"I have only one last request of you now, Draco," she spoke. "The names of both our families will be dishonored enough by this divorce, you know it."

"Don't be so dramatic, Astoria. Lots of people get divorced these days. No one even pays attention anymore."

"Not people of our circle," she shook her dark curls, "Draco, I know you have been following your father, intercepting his owls, tracking his comings and goings. Please, drop it. I know what you suspect him of, but what good would it do to anyone if he is arrested? Even if he really did it… Weasley is dead, it's done, it's over. You know your father would be too careful to be involved in anything of the sort again. Do you want to be labeled as the son of a murderer for the rest of your life, Draco?"

Of course, Draco thought bitterly. What's an unpunished murder of a Ron Weasley, compared to the blemish it would put on the reputation of a Malfoy or a Greengrass?

"What can I do to convince you it is the best for everyone involved?" pleaded Astoria. "What is it that you want?"

His fists clenched, and his voice was hoarse and low when he replied,

"Justice."


	14. Basilisk arrows

"Basilisk Arrows," mused Lenny, "a rare, deadly plant, found only in two other places in England besides the greenhouses of Hogwarts. Herschel found the seeds among Rowle's things, and we also know he was very interested in Mandrakes for some reason. But hey, Fiona," he added in a completely different tone, "why does this seem so extraordinary to you? I mean, this might be just – you know – a Herbology project? Is Rowle good at Herbology?"

"Good at Herbology?" Fiona snorted, "pretty much the only thing Rowle is good at is bullying."

"Even if Rowle was involved in Mr. Weasley's murder," Lenny continued, shuddering, "why do you think he would have let his teenage son into this business? It just doesn't make sense."

"Yes it does," countered Fiona, "because Mandrakes and Basilisk Arrows are rare, and if he wanted to get them fast, he had to get them from Hogwarts – and he can't just walk into the grounds, he's a former Death Eater and he's known for it, he had to have his son's help. And of course Torbjorn Rowle isn't the type to just follow instructions he doesn't understand. He insisted he should be confided in."

"I understand how Basilisk Arrows can kill someone," said Lenny, "but Mr. Weasley wasn't killed by a plant venom, his death was caused by a spell that backfired – they found the traces – and what do Mandrakes have to do with it? Something just doesn't fall into place… unless…"

They looked at each other, horrified.

"If you are thinking what I think you are thinking," said Fiona in a hushed voice, "and if we are right… it was a very clever murder, and there is no way we could have put the pieces together if Mr. Malfoy hadn't spied on his father…"

"It seems they waited until Mr. Weasley was in the Department of Experimental Spells," Lenny said slowly, "so that it would be obvious to anyone that a spell backfired…"

"And no one would question whether it really was the cause of death," Fiona finished, "no one would think it might have been inflicted when Mr. Weasley was already dead. And of course, no one would think to check for Basilisk Arrows venom. But Mandrakes… what about them?"

"The cry of a Mandrake can knock a person out," Lenny noted, "I remember, in a school I once attended in Australia…"

"Yes," Fiona cut across him, "But why not Stupefy him and be done with it?"

"Perhaps it might have set off a security alarm in the Ministry," said Lenny, "and besides, I think they were afraid their wands might be checked. How does this sound?"

"It makes sense," Fiona said slowly, "but we still need to prove it's true."

"So what are we going to do?" asked Lenny, "Are you going to tell your father?"

"No," said Fiona, getting up, "I'm going to do what my father would have done. I'm going to go straight to Draco Malfoy."

"You really ought to eat, rest and take a bath, Draco," said Narcissa Malfoy, "you have been through a terrible ordeal."

"So have you, Mother."

"I'm more concerned for you, son," she replied softly.

Now nearing sixty, Narcissa Malfoy's skin was not as smooth anymore, and there was rather a lot of grey in her blonde hair, but she retained her graceful posture and youthful agility. With trembling hands, she poured them both a cup of tea, and the fact that she didn't summon a house-elf to do that service for her spoke volumes about the state of shock she was in.

"Yes," said Draco Malfoy, smiling bitterly and crookedly, "it's not every day that I ship my own father off to Azkaban."

"I believe it is safer for Lucius and for all of us that he will be kept locked up for a while. Later, I can ask a Healer who's a friend of the family for mental evaluation. We can make it look as though your father was out of his mind – deranged –"

"Half of the people in Azkaban are deranged," countered Draco, "usually, it's only a matter of time."

"I just wish there weren't so many scandals surrounding the family," whispered Narcissa, "did Astoria accept the divorce agreement?"

"No reason for her to object, is there?" Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, "half of our family's fortune in her hands, and the children will inherit the rest."

"Unless you remarry and beget more children," remarked Narcissa.

"That doesn't seem very likely," replied Draco Malfoy in his driest voice. His mother looked at him sadly.

"Looking back, I wonder whether we should have encouraged your marriage to Astoria so much," she said, "but you two had seemed so perfect for one another."

"Drop it, mother," said Draco, frowning, "it was my decision, eventually. And it's over and done with."

"Draco," Narcissa said slowly, thoughtfully, "a couple of years ago, when you confessed to me that you had been in love with another woman before you met Astoria – was this woman –"

"Why do you want to know, mother?" he asked, "I told you back then, even if by some unbelievable stroke of luck she would have wanted me, you would never accept her, so be happy things worked out the way they did."

"Draco, Draco," Narcissa shook her head, "one advantage of growing old is that you stop caring so much about what people think. You are my only son, and I want to see you happy. I would accept the devil if you told me you were happily in love, not just Hermione Granger."

Draco looked at his mother, startled, suspecting.

"How – how do you –" he spluttered.

"How do I know?" Narcissa smiled slightly, "a mother always knows, Draco."

"You… you… haven't been searching through my things, have you?" he asked, a dangerous steely edge to his voice.

"No, no, of course not! I would never do that! But Draco, it is so – so obvious – the unusual amount of interest you are taking in this woman's woes. She ought to be so grateful."

Draco laughed bitterly.

"Oh yes, I expect she will be terribly grateful," he said, "especially after she finds out it was my father who murdered her husband."


	15. Call me Jeremy

"Torbjorn Rowle is going to be expelled, of course?"

Severus frowned. The matter-of-fact tone of his wife foretold trouble whenever it was contradicted.

"I'm afraid not," he reluctantly admitted.

"Not?" Celena repeated in the tone of utmost incredulity.

"Not," repeated Severus.

"Severus, the boy had his hand in murder! A cold-blooded, horrible murder of someone we knew and liked! You've expelled students for matters far less serious that something like this!"

"We have no proof he was one of the accomplices," Severus said darkly, "all we know for sure is that he handed over the Mandrakes and Basilisk Arrows to his father, but we couldn't make him admit he knew what Rowle senior and Lucius Malfoy were up to."

"And Anna's backing him up," Celena bit her lip, "Severus, I'm more and more concerned about this connection with every day that goes by."

… Celena still found it hard to think about anything other than her daughter's relationship with Torbjorn Rowle and Mr. Weasley's murder, when Fleur stopped by for a visit that weekend.

At forty, Fleur Delacour-Weasley was still stunning, one of the most beautiful and elegant witches in both England and France, her country of birth, with her long blond hair, graceful stature, and very stylish, classy outfits. She lost some of the youthful girlishness and was now an imperious, queenly lady.

"Zis is unbelievable," said Fleur, "Zat after what zis boy 'ad done, 'e remains at school! And Severus says there is nothing 'e can do?"

"Nothing," Celena said gloomily, "I just wish I could make Anna see reason! I really don't understand why such an otherwise intelligent girl…"

"Ah, cherie, eesn't eet always like that?" said Fleur, "Remember Etienne? You were so infatuated with 'im, even when I told you I know for a fact 'e 'eez going out wiz ozzer girls. You seemply refused to believe me. I felt eet was very lucky we went away for ze Triwizard Tournament in our final year, but you were still so silly about 'im, kept sending 'im owls and 'oping you would get back togezzer when we come back – of course, when we got back you discovered 'e 'as 'ad about a dozen ozzer girlfriends in your absence – "

"Yes, yes," Celena said impatiently. Even though over twenty years have passed, Fleur never missed an opportunity to tease her about her first boyfriend. "But the point is, I don't think Anna will leave that hideous boyfriend of hers out of her own volition, and unfortunately for us all, Torbjorn Rowle is not as big a womanizer as Etienne Leblanc."

"Oh, we shall see about zat," said Fleur with the air of great mystery.

"Why?" Celena perked up hopefully, "Have you thought of something?"

It was mid-March when Ravenclaw flattened Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch, which put Slytherin out of the running for the Cup. Fiona was never a big fan of Quidditch, but she cheered on her house team more enthusiastically than anyone else because it caused her immense satisfaction to see Rowle defeated. Even her sister's crestfallen face didn't mar Fiona's feeling of extreme smugness when she heard Rowle chastising his Chasers for missing so many Quaffles. Anna, on the other hand, performed very well, closing the gap to only forty points in favor of Ravenclaw as the final score.

Fiona knew Hagrid must be celebrating too, because Ravenclaw's victory gave his house, Gryffindor, better chances to win the Cup, and so she took a couple of Butterbeers with her when she went to Hagrid's later that day, to see the baby Knarls he promised to show her. By now she already knew she might very well come across Professor Hawthorn at Hagrid's, and even though she would have fiercely denied it if anyone had asked, that was the reason why she dressed and arranged her hair with special care, and even put on a touch of lipstick before descending down the sloping lawns.

"It's so much better now," Jeremy Hawthorn said happily after Fiona fed the baby Knarls some grated cheese and apples and passed around the Butterbeers, "much more manageable, now that Torbjorn Rowle cares to keep a low profile. I don't think he will dare to cause any more trouble while he's in school."

"Another bit o' messing around from 'im, and he's outta here," nodded Hagrid, "an' trust me, not many will be sorry ter see the back of him."

"Professor Snape was gracious enough to summon me to his office and voice his approval about how well I'm handling the Head of House duties," told Hawthorn, "I wonder what he would think if he knew how much helpful advice I received from you, Fiona!"

"Oh, it's only natural that I would know a thing or two about how to handle the Slytherins," smiled Fiona, "after all, I grew up with their Head of House."

It has become custom for Fiona and Jeremy to walk back to the castle together after they had finished visiting Hagrid, and every time they did that, the walk took longer and longer, because one or another of them would inevitably stop to point out something interesting about the ground or the castle architecture. Tonight was no different.

"Did you notice how the moonlight is rippling about the surface of the lake, Professor Hawthorn?" asked Fiona, stopping in her tracks. "And it's all so still and silent and empty, and you can smell the first whiff of fresh leaves. Did you have a lake in New Springs, Professor?"

"No," Jeremy shook his head, "we did have a swimming pool, though, and I think it was more convenient for exercise because the temperature of the water was better controlled. We could swim throughout the year, not just during the warmer months."

"We can swim during the cooler months too, no problem," said Fiona, and, marveling at her own audacity, she pulled her robes over her head and in a quick movement, she stripped down to her bra and panties. With a very uncharacteristic, girlish squeal, she ran towards the lake, leaving an open-mouthed Professor Hawthorn standing behind her.

"The water is cold!" he shouted, coming out of his reverie, "come back here, Miss Snape! What will I tell your father if the giant squid gets you?"

Sure enough, within a few seconds he heard Fiona's urgent voice:

"Help! Help, Professor Hawthorn, it got my foot!"

Quickly, Jeremy pulled off his clothes and dashed towards the lake as fast as he could, wearing only his underpants. He praised himself for the many hours of exercise he spent in the pool of New Springs, as he swam at top speed towards Fiona, who was clearly struggling against something that was pulling her down into the freezing, reedy water. When he reached her, however, she was floating quietly and looking rather embarrassed.

"It was just a bit of weed," she said timidly, glad he can't see her blush in the silver glow of the moonlight.

Jeremy laughed. Despite the coldness of the lake water, he felt a pleasant, warm tingle at the back of his neck. Fiona's white shoulders were visible above the surface of the lake, and her wet hair was plastered to her smiling face. She pushed it out of her eyes with a slender white hand and looked at him, clearly expecting him to reassure her that it was okay with him to be plunged into a freezing lake for a nighttime dip.

"I'm sorry, Professor Hawthorn," she apologized.

"You can call me Jeremy," he replied, and the next moment, their arms were around each other and their lips finally met.


	16. Hope

Victoire spotted the broad back of Torbjorn Rowle as he was standing alone, across the courtyard, and hurried towards him, hiding a mischievous smile in the corners of her eyes.

"Torbjorn?" she called out in a sweet voice. He turned abruptly.

"Victoire, isn't it?"

"I simply must ask you something, Torbjorn," said Victoire, shaking back her blond curls, "I'm pretty convinced you got an Outstanding in Transfiguration in your O.W.L, but Fiona Snape claims you didn't. So which is true?"

"I got an Outstanding all right," said Rowle smugly.

"I thought you must have," nodded Victoire, "But Fiona can be so silly, you know, she was actually sure she was the only one in our year to get an O. That's pretty arrogant of her, I think."

She laughed – a tinkling, silvery laugh. Rowle was eyeing her with undisguised appreciation. There were dimples in her cheeks when she smiled, and her mane of long blond hair shone in the sunlight. There was no denying Victoire Weasley was the best-looking girl in their year, and even though he wasn't aware of it, the small portion of Veela blood flowing in her veins gave her extraordinary powers.

"You must help me, then," said Victoire, "I'm having serious trouble with human Transfiguration, and you know, with the exams drawing nearer…"

She trailed off and looked at him, her blue eyes showing intense expectation.

"No problem," said Rowle, puffing out his broad chest, "I'm quite good at it, I'll explain it to you in no time."

"Great," smiled Victoire, "shall I meet you tonight in the library, then? Eight o'clock?"

"I'll be there," said Rowle.

"Thanks, Torbjorn," and with a small wave, Victoire turned and walked away gracefully, glad that Rowle cannot see the triumphant look upon her face.

"How did it go?" asked Fiona eagerly when Victoire caught up with her in the common room before dinner.

"Easy," Victoire said nonchalantly and smiled, "guys like Rowle are so predictable. We are meeting in the library tonight, and then it will be time to proceed to the next part of the plan."

"Thanks so much, Vicky!" said Fiona, relieved. Victoire was starting to grow on her. "I just hope you won't be in trouble with Teddy because of this."

"Oh, Teddy approves," said Victoire airily, "as long as it all ends quickly, I should be in no actual danger of Rowle's advances."

"I owe you one," said Fiona, "and so does Anna, even though she doesn't know it yet."

"Really?" Victoire surveyed Fiona through narrowed eyes, "In that case, Fiona, I feel I'm within my right to ask you –"

"Alright, alright, you can borrow my dragonskin boots," said Fiona, "just return them intact, okay? I'm really fond of them."

"The season for boots is over, silly," laughed Victoire, "but it would be very interesting to know why you were all sopping wet when you came up to the school gates last night. And I was also wondering if you could tell me," Victoire pressed on, "why Professor Hawthorn had weeds in his hair when I was taking Remedial Potions with him last night."

It was with a heavy heart that Draco Malfoy finally confessed to Hermione about his father's involvement in her husband's murder. Hiding it was no longer an option – the official trial was about to begin, and Draco knew she would be asked to appear there as a witness. It was extremely hard for him to speak. In the past month, he sensed he was starting to gain a small bit of respect and appreciation from Hermione, and as little as it was, he cherished it and dreaded giving it up – which would be, of course, inevitable, he thought, once she knows the truth about the circumstances of her husband's death.

"But I assure you I had no idea about this when I started helping you," he finished his tale, "I wasn't trying to assuage my guilt. I only did that because – well – because I thought I ought to."

Silent tears were flowing down Hermione's cheeks as she stared down to her trembling hands. Finally, she raised her eyes and looked at Draco's grave, anguished face.

"Of course," she said in a shaky voice, "I know you had nothing to do with it, Draco. I can only imagine what it must have been for you to – to testify against your own father."

"He was insane," said Draco, "my father hasn't been quite right in the head ever since Lord Voldemort's downfall, and it only got worse with every year that went by. I don't know why we haven't contacted St. Mungo's, it was all because we tried to preserve the family's bloody honor, I suppose…"

Hermione let out a long, tremulous sigh.

"It is a relief for me to know Ron's murderers will be punished," she spoke, choosing her words carefully, "but for you and your mother –"

"We will look after each other," Draco assured her. "my mother, especially, is tougher than you might think. Listen, I must tell you something else. Good news this time," he hastened to add, "the investment I made for you paid off – big time. I have three hundred Galleons waiting for you at Malfoy Manor, and this money is entirely your own. I take no commission fee," he finished with a weak smile.

"I – thank you," said the overwhelmed Hermione, "it's a bit hard to think about it right now, but the truth is, we really need this money."

"We could go and collect it now," suggested Draco, "care to take the Floo? I'm not very good at Apparating."

As she walked through Malfoy Manor – a house she didn't imagine she would ever visit – Hermione was impressed by the elegance of the ancient building, the perfectly manicured lawn and the many portraits of the Malfoy ancestors on the walls, hanging alternately with enormous hand-woven silk tapestries. She was astonished by the impeccable politeness of Narcissa Malfoy, who retained her calm dignity despite the personal losses she had to endure recently.

"This is my old bedroom," said Draco when he finished giving her a tour downstairs and they let the moving spiral staircase carry them to the upper floors, "the house-elves keep it in order, I come and stay overnight more often than usual these days."

Hermione felt the urge to scowl at the mention of house elves, but she was too impressed by Draco's bedroom to let the thought linger. The room was the size of a hall, with great ornate windows letting in the view of a pine grove, with an enormous canopied bed, several closets, an old carved desk of dark polished wood, many rows of bookcases, and a magnificent fireplace with a luxurious Persian rug spread in front of it. A faded green-and-silver Slytherin banner hung on one of the walls.

"Wait, I think I left it downstairs in the library after all," said Draco after he fruitlessly scanned the room for a sign of the envelope and the leather pouch of Galleons. "I'll be right back, I want to show you the books I have here, they are much more interesting than what we have downstairs."

Hermione nodded, and when he walked off, she circled the large handsome room, looking idly at some faded book covers. Then she approached the old desk, which retained the marks of inky blotches the faithful house servants were not quite able to get rid of. Despite the shock of her earlier discovery, she couldn't help but smile a little when she recognized trinkets from their time at school, such as Malfoy's old Prefect badge and the faded piece of parchment that contained the results of his O. – she was impressed to see eight "Outstandings".

And then – she couldn't explain what made her do it, as it was so unlike her – she twiddled with the handle of one of the drawers, and it slid easily open, and she extracted an old, yellowish envelope – and was startled to see her own name on it in Draco's slanting, firm and masculine handwriting. It was dated seventeen years ago.

The phrases swam before her eyes as she sank into the chair behind the desk and continued reading. She realized it was wrong, she wanted to put the letter back, but it was as though her hands and eyes were glued to it – and that was how Draco found her when he returned to the room ten minutes later. One look at her was enough to make him understand she had read it all.

Hermione gave a startled jump as she noticed him, and immediately let go of the letter.

"Draco, I – I'm so sorry," she said in a faltering voice, "I know nothing can excuse – it was your private –"

He made several slow steps towards her, very white.

"So you know now," he said quietly, "I never meant to tell you, but I suppose no harm is done. And since there is no point in hiding it anymore, you should know, Hermione, that for me – for me, nothing has changed."

Hermione bit her lower lip, and two tears welled up in her eyes.

"I was afraid you would say that," she whispered.

Draco swayed on the spot as though she had slapped him, paler than death.

"I understand," he said, not looking at her. Hermione realized how he must have interpreted her words, and hurried to amend.

"No – no, I don't think you understood me, Draco," she said, "I – I simply meant to say that in the past months, I have seen you in a very different light – as a different – different person than the one I remembered from school. You helped us so much – and now I just learned that you saved my life all those years ago, and I never knew – "

He was looking at her now, his eyes wide, clinging to every word as if to a lifeline.

"And I just meant to say, it is all still so raw and painful and confusing – Ron's death, your divorce – and I think we ought to give it time – to give ourselves time to – to let things calm down, and take it slow, begin to get to know each other – and then maybe, just maybe –"

Draco bent his head towards her hand and kissed it, brushing it very lightly with his lips.

"This is more than I could have hoped for," he said.


	17. Defiance

Jeremy and Fiona were not trained very well in secrecy and stealth, and so it was surprising that they had managed to keep their affair hushed up for a month before being walked in on by Filch in an empty classroom where they had been kissing. As they listened with horror to Filch's receding footsteps and wheezy, excited breathing, they looked at each other and turned stone cold at the thought of what was awaiting them.

An hour later, Jeremy Hawthorn was summoned to the Headmaster's office and put his steps there with the sinking feeling of walking towards his own death sentence.

Fiona, in the meantime, was silently marched by her mother across the school grounds, out into Hogsmeade and to the Snape family house. Celena didn't speak until the door was slammed behind them in Fiona's room.

"So," she said, rounding on her daughter with a furious gleam in her eyes, "so."

"So what?" Fiona looked at her mother defiantly, feigning indifference, even while her heart was beating violently in her chest.

"Here we are, thinking we should be worrying about Anna, while in fact you aren't doing much better, Fiona Evangeline!"

"Don't you dare!" Fiona flared up, "Don't you dare to compare Jeremy to – to that scumbag –"

"I just want to know," Celena was taking deep, steadying breaths, struggling to regain calm, "what in the name of Merlin have you been thinking?"

"I am perfectly within my right to have a boyfriend," said Fiona, "and I see no reason why it shouldn't be Jeremy."

Celena let out a mad, high-pitched cackle.

"Oh, certainly, no reason at all! No reason, apart from the fact that he is your teacher and much too old for you!"

Now it was Fiona's turn to laugh maniacally.

"Oh, sure, Jeremy is twelve years older than me – and that's really an inconceivable gap, seeing how you and Dad have seventeen years between the two of you!"

"That's different!" Celena yelled, "When your father and I met, we were both adults, colleagues – your father was not my teacher, and I was certainly not sixteen years old!"

"No, you were, what, a whopping twenty-one? And I don't know whom you are kidding, mother. Harry told me how surprised everyone was to hear that you are getting married, which didn't prevent you being happy together!"

"You are a child!" bellowed Celena.

"I'm coming of age in a couple of months," reminded Fiona.

"A child!" repeated Mrs. Snape, her chest heaving, "but if you care for Professor Hawthorn even one bit, you will cease any contact with him unless you want to cost him his career. Because I'm warning you, Fiona, if you don't stop this, your father will dismiss Professor Hawthorn immediately, and take his classes himself if he has to, until a substitute is found!"

"You can do whatever you want," Fiona drew herself up to her full height, "but in several months, I will be seventeen, and I'm not coming back to school next year, and then there is nothing – absolutely nothing – you can do about me and Jeremy being together."

Celena's eyes flashed bright blue just like her daughter's, as she, too, straightened up.

"Fine," she said icily, "I understand that in several months, you will be at perfect liberty to do with your life whatever you want, and there is nothing I can do to prevent you from committing whatever folly you set your immature mind on. But for now, you are still underage, and therefore your father and I forbid you to see Professor Hawthorn outside classes, or write to him, or contact him in any way at all. Do you understand?"

While Celena and Fiona were raging and storming at each other, Snape's office was hosting a largely similar scene, at the end of which Jeremy Hawthorn got up and said calmly:

"I understand your concerns, Professor Snape, and because I greatly respect you, I will be completely honest. I do not intend to give up on Fiona, who is the most wonderful young woman I have ever met. When she comes of age, I will contact her again, and if she is still interested – which, I admit, she might not be – I will pledge my faithfulness to her."

When Hawthorn walked out, Snape sat for a long time with his hands on his temples before turning around and facing Albus Dumbledore's portrait behind his desk.

"Now you see what is happening, Dumbledore," he said desperately, "my students are involved in the most sinister plots, my daughters are pursuing totally inappropriate romances, and my son only reluctantly agreed to get back on speaking terms with me. I'm not handling it all so well, which only proves my earlier point – I'm unsuited for Headmastership."

"On the contrary, Severus," said Dumbledore, and his long white beard twitched in an approving smile, "your feeling of inadequacy is precisely what shows you are meant to be sitting in this chair."

It was dinnertime when Fiona was back in the dormitory, which was mercifully empty. She collapsed on her bed, immersed in gloomy thoughts. She was confident that she and Jeremy could go through a few months of separation with their feelings intact, even without the possibility of writing to each other. But would it really ruin every chance of a future teaching career for Jeremy? She definitely didn't want to carry the blame for that.

Victoire was the first of the sixth-year Ravenclaw girls to return from dinner. She looked at Fiona with glowing eyes and let out an exclamation of utter delight.

"So it's true!" she said triumphantly, "Oh, Fiona, the whole school is talking about it, it's so romantic!"

"Yeah," Fiona replied tartly, "it will be even more romantic, I suppose, if Dad acts upon his heart's desire and locks Jeremy up in the dungeons."

"Hey, you guys will find a way! Teddy and I are still together and going strong, you know, even though it will be a year from now before we can see each other on a regular basis apart from summer!"

"At least you don't have your family running after you with burning torches for being together," Fiona pointed out irritably.

"But listen, I must tell you something, Fiona! It will improve your mood, I promise. Our plan – it worked!"

"It did?" Fiona perked up.

"Yes, it went perfectly! I asked Rowle to meet me at The Three Broomsticks and we were sitting there – and well, he thought Anna would stay behind instead of going to Hogsmeade, because he convinced her she must put more effort into studying for her exams. But my sister Dominique convinced Anna to go after all, and when they walked in, Anna saw Rowle attempting to get hold of my hand and up-ended a mug of Butterbeer down his head."

Fiona roared with laughter, while Victoire erupted in high-pitched giggles.

"Ah, I wish I could have seen that! And then?"

"And then Teddy arrived and took me away from there, and Rowle was left sitting all by himself, sopping wet and mad as a rampaging troll, but of course he didn't dare to pick a fight with Teddy – after all, he's older and bigger, and you know Rowle's only good at bullying third-years who are half the size of him – ah, Fiona, I'm afraid Anna will hate me for the rest of her life, but it was all worth it if it breaks them up!"

… The next day brought the torture of a Potions lesson during which Fiona and Jeremy were afraid to exchange even the simplest of phrases, or indeed, to catch each other's eye, not wanting to incriminate themselves further. But when their eyes finally met, they both carried the same tentative question that was instantly answered:

"Yes, I will wait for you. No, I am not giving up."


	18. The way of victory

Most of the students were already at the leaving feast, but Fiona and Lenny had lingered in the empty common room, where a few debris of last night's celebration were scattered, including Butterbeer corks and Chocolate Frog cards.

"Well, er, I hope you have a good holiday, Fiona," said Lenny, "I'm coming back next year, and I do hope to see both you and Professor Hawthorn again, it wouldn't be the same without you."

"I hope you have a great summer too, Lenny," nodded Fiona, choosing to ignore the remark about next year. As far as she was concerned, she was not coming back. "Any special plans?"

"Well, my mother's cousin and her family are coming for a visit from Australia," told Lenny, "it was always kind of assumed in the family that I will marry my second cousin Carmella when we both grow up, and Mum and Dad think it's time we finally met."

Fiona frowned.

"An arranged marriage?" she asked. "But you are only seventeen years old, Lenny, and – and I know you told me Jews only marry among themselves, but you still have plenty of time to meet someone you really like!"

Lenny's dark eyes surveyed Fiona with a mixture of amusement, exasperation and slight sadness.

"I really like _you_, Fiona," he said, "you are smart, funny, kind, you are the most terrific friend I have ever had. But what's the use in that? Even if you weren't already in love with someone else, even if by some amazing stroke of luck you happened to like me back, it could never work out between us. Even if you converted to Judaism. I am a Cohen, and we don't marry converts."

"Going for the pure-blood line, are you?" Fiona raised her eyebrows coldly.

Lenny scowled.

"I'm not the one who made up the rules, you know," he said.

Their conversation was interrupted by the abrupt entrance of a flustered Jeremy Hawthorn, upon seeing whom Fiona first flushed, then paled.

"Jeremy!" she exclaimed.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later at the leaving feast, Fiona," said Lenny, dragging himself and his trunk out of the room, head downcast.

When they were alone, Jeremy finally spoke.

"I only came to say goodbye, Fiona. I must go back to packing my things in a minute. I'm leaving."

Fiona looked at him, paper white, then managed to compose herself:

"You should hurry up, then, Professor Hawthorn. The feast is about to start."

Jeremy took a stride towards her and firmly grasped both her hands in his.

"Don't you see, Fiona? Don't you understand? This is the only way we can be together – with you coming of age, and me not your teacher anymore."

"You don't have to leave!" Fiona cried out, sensation coming back to her fingertips. "I don't want you to miss out on teaching, Jeremy, and I planned to drop out of school next year anyway –"

Jeremy shook his head.

"No, Fiona. You will come back next year and do your N.E., you are too talented to miss out on that. As for me," he shrugged, "I will find something else to keep myself occupied, and I will try to come to Hogsmeade as often as possible, so we can still see each other. I'll write. And when you are finished with school, well, my friend Rolf Scamander has been asking me for ages to join him in his research of the ice-breathing dragons of New Zealand. We can both go. Would you like that?"

A smile spreading on her lips, Fiona ran a hand through Jeremy's wavy hair, and for a second, all caution flew to the winds as he leaned in to kiss her.

If there was one more thing that could improve Fiona's mood any further, it was the sight of Torbjorn Rowle breaking into a trot, following Anna's stubborn back which kept moving away from him. Fiona didn't quite make out all Anna said when she finally consented to turn her head over her shoulder and give her ex-boyfriend a scathing look, but she distinctly heard the words "I'm not that stupid, Rowle!"

Fiona smiled to herself as she walked across the hall, dragging her trunk and carrying Althea's cage with her. Taking everything into account, she was glad she came back to school after all.


End file.
